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vol 02 / issue 02 / 04’10

THOSE SEEKING STEREOTYPICAL CARIBBEAN FARE WILL BE DISAPPOINTED

it: vis eg ep th le m co g.

Features
Pg 3 . . . . . . . . . . Local Suds 6 Pg 4 . . . . . . . . . Triple-hops Brewed Pg 7 . . . . . . . . . . . Prairie Poetics Pg 7 . . . . . Things Catey’s Learned Pg 8 . . . . . . . . . . . IceFest 2010 Pg 12 . . . . . . 8 yrs old: Cloudy Day

Let’s talk about time travelin’, rhyme javelin, somethin’ mind unravelin’ - get down.

Pg 5 . . . . . . . . . . VFW Surprises

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Pg 10 . . . . . . Bubbles in Bonaire Pg 17 . . . . . . . Like Pot, But Not

VISIT: THEPEG LEG.COM
We publish The Peg Leg Update under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license. Basically, feel free to reprint anything you see here, but attribute it please. <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/>

t feels so good to be back. Thanks for inviting us into your home, booth, desk and/ or mind. My hope is that you will follow Mr. Andre Benjamin’s advice - words I chose for the introductory header this issue. Parse your way through this, the sixth issue of The Peg Leg Update, in much the same was as you would approach a new hiking trail, summer campfire with strangers or virginial art museum experience - with very few preconceptions. It will transpire much more smoothly that way. ps>flux starts this issue off with another excellent review of a local treasure - Boss’s Pizza on Main Ave. here in Brookings. While his vision might have been a bit hazy during the meal, I implore you to trust his stomach. If you have seen the recent beer commercials professing “triple-hops brewed” beer while showing a pour resembling spilt pee, you’ll enjoy Mr. Roose Bellington’s critique on page 4. He even included some nuggets of hop knowledge, so read up. Anthony Castillo, worldwide Rasta, walked into the VFW here in Brookings a few weeks ago and found something unexpected. Read his log on page 5. On page 7 you’ll find a wonderful piece, but one that might have been more applicable with a less tardy publication schedule. Kate Wegehaupt displays her poetic prowess with a profession of appreciation towards the more burly type of folks in the area. Enjoy her creative commentary.

Below the poem you’ll find a solid list of “Things I’ve Learned on My Own,” by Catey Watkins. And just in case you’re thinking of skipping the article, she included “Mostly the Hard Way,” to display her devotion to knowledge dissemination. A short while ago, a talented group of individuals gathered in the Lantern Lounge for an interesting night of verse, drink and dance. Read ps>flux’s entry about the event. It’s not hard to imagine him (or her?) as a young buck journalist, hot on the trail and ready to relay words on events. On page 10 you can find Ben Helder’s story of good food and better diving down in Bonaire. As one of our foreign correspondents, he has put together another excellent piece on a most attractive place. Gina Caciolo, who will be furthering her writing career in some sort of fancy school this fall (congrats!) continues her short fiction series with “8 yrs old: Cloudy Day” on page 12. It’s a story of love, rejection and dodgeball, so you know it’s good. Then finally, on page 14, we have included a piece off our website. The name is “Like Pot, But Not: It’s Legal, but Stay Scared,” and it was written by none other than cuniform:ation, our local zen biking expert and frequent contributor to ThePegLeg.com. The article speaks for itself, and no offence intended if we hurt anyone’s feelings. Enjoy. - Mitch LeClair Editor

We have published The Peg Leg Update once a month in the town of Brookings, S.D., since the beginning of fall 2009. Thanks for taking a look. Editor: Mitch LeClair - leclairmitch@gmail.com Advertising: Stuart Ensz - stuensz.plu@gmail.com Scribes: Kate Wegehaupt, Catey Watkins, Gina Caciolo, ps>flux, Ross Bell, Anthony Castillo, cuneiform:ation, Benjamin D. Helder Cover art: Benjamin D. Helder Illustrations + logo design: Siri Boyd Layout: Brandon Henderson, Mitch LeClair For more information: visit thepegleg.com, e-mail us or bring a case of Hamm’s to 830 3rd Ave.

thepeglegupdate@gmail.com

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PLU 04’10

Local Suds 6: “420 Main”
by ps>flux

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inter break is cold and lonely; I have no money. A new decade slaps us in painfully numb faces with negative fifteen, thirty, fifty-degree temps… F that. I work outside, shingling houses, over Christmas break. I eat potatoes and Top Ramen. Town is dry, like every Christmas break. All the cool kids are out snowboarding and rolling, watchin’ STS9 ring in the New Year, while I spend the holidays in Brookings. Cabin-fever depression, Christmas blues, whatever you call it, I got it, until, that is, my buds come back to town. The last paycheck from break surprises me with the capability of paying bills and still percolates my pocket with some loose flow; a close friend just rolled in from Vegas, and now I can celebrate. All that work, shivering, and darkness congeals the spirit real quick – then: a sunny, warm Saturday morning, a fat bowl of stinky salad, and a relaxed walk down Main Street Brookings which, all of a sudden, doesn’t look so bad anymore. Fixed up, I’m lookin’ to feed; nothing remedies that January pouty-face

like a beastly binge, but I’m dippin’ from the drinkin’ for a bit – my liver, cerebrum, and wallet need a break. My stomach rumbles; I’ve lost ten pounds in the last month, shivering and eating cheap food with little nutritional value. 420 Main catches my eye – a pizza buffet? On Main Street? Yes, please! As I walk in the entrance of Boss’s Pizza, the glass door reflects my tousled hair and bloodshot eyes. For a moment, I wonder if I look too sketchy or smell too funky to be in a restaurant – than I see my buddy Glen the Can Man posted up close to the buffet, Mad Bomber cap pushed back as he rips at a chunk of fried chicken. I think I’m good. The buffet costs $8.55. As I fill up my glass with Dr. Pepper and survey the rows of pizza, potatoes, and chicken, I feel like Charlie getting his first glimpse of Willy Wonka’s factory. I visit with Glen for a while as we both stack plates six-inches-tall with pizza. They make my favorite kind here: thin, crunchy crust and heavy on the toppings. And… Oh-ho! What’s this? They have not only barbecue

and fried chicken, but boneless, spicy chicken wings. I try to fit a scoop of cottage cheese on the heaped plate, but realize it will have to wait for the next trip up. Three plates later, I stare dumbly at the television on the wall, metabolism too occupied with digestion to allow my brain enough energy to comprehend what the announcer is so excited about. I waddle over to the soft-serve ice cream machine, in slow motion at this point - I get a bowl of vanilla ice cream and a bowl of chocolate pudding and eat them together. Boss’s has two pinball machines: one is Adam’s Family-themed - the other, X-Files. I play through a few balls, the toasty-happycloudy buzz dulled by greasy, carbohydrate gluttony, but still rollin’ enough to speed up my reflexes and make me trip on the machine’s intricate synth track. On my first play, I get within 130,000 points of the high score. I can’t replicate for another fifteen minutes, so I give up and hit the street again.

photo by Trevor Drawdy [ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890

Triple-hops Brewed
by Ross Bell

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very time I see a Miller Light commercial, I am left confused. What exactly does triple-hops brewed mean? Triple hops seems like a lot of hops. However, I have had more Miller Lights in my day than I’m really proud to admit, and I can tell you it doesn’t taste anything like hops. What do hops taste like? What in the hell are they? Do hops serve any purpose at all!? As requested, this issue’s article will be an informational piece on everything hops. Hops are a little green cone-shaped flowers that grows on the vines of the humulus lupulous plants. Humulus shares the same genus as cannibus; no wonder hops rule. Being perennials, hops tend to yield little their first year, but they can grow almost anywhere that has a decent growing season. It is completely possible to grow hops in South Dakota, as long as you keep the plant away from its mortal enemy: wind. The hops that I have seen around these parts tend to be surrounded by a shelter belt or hugging a structure of some sort to protect them against the wind. Hops have been used for beer purposes for the past thousand years. Germany and England were the original stomping grounds for the first hops used for beer. It was discovered that hops act as a natural preservative for beer, while also giving it a unique flavor. It wasn’t until the era of British imperialism that hops were heavily used. The Brits found that beer could not withstand the long trek from the British Isles all the way to India. Solution? Load the beer with hops. This event popularized the use of hops in beer and is how the India Pale Ale (IPA) was born. Today there are a couple of areas in the world that are well known for hop production. The number one hop growing area in the world is in Germany followed by the Pacific Northwest here in the US. European hop varieties are better known for their low bitterness. These varieties are used more in lagers than bitter ales. Oktoberfest styles and pilsners often times use these hops. Compared to their Euro counterparts, hops in the United States tend to contain much more lupulin, the substance that provides bitterness. Washington produces the most hops of any state. In 2009, it produced around 75 million pounds of several hop variet-

ies. Washington’s hop total trumps the number two producer, Oregon, which boasts only 12 million pounds. Hop production in the three state region, Washington, Oregon, and Idaho yielded around $340 million in 2009. One pound of hops fetched an average of $3.50 to $4 in 2009.  A 56-pound bushel of corn yielded around the same price! Today, hops are used in most styles of beer in varying amounts, and yes, even Miller Light has hops in it. The hoppiness of a beer is measured using the international bitterness unit (IBU) scale. The more hops used, the higher the IBU will be.  A high IBU, however, doesn’t necessarily guarantee a bitter beer. A thick, heavy stout can have an IBU of 80, but the large amount of roasted malts will mask the taste of hops and balance everything out, while an India pale ale with the same high IBU might make you pucker with bitterness. The most hop-happy styles of beer are India pale ales, American pale ales (APA), barley wines and stouts. IPAs and APAs are brewed with the intent on making a very bitter beer. The difference between the two is

simply that APAs are brewed with a little more thought on the grain side of the recipe. APAs can be just as hoppy as an IPA, but they tend to be a bit more balanced. Stouts are the odd one out, using hops for balance more than anything. Barley wines are probably the most difficult beer to define, because they have such a huge range of flavors, ingredients and colors. Unlike what the name suggests, barley wines have very little to do with wine. They got their name because they typically have as much alcohol as wine. What most barley wines do share in common is a healthy dose of hops in their recipes. Maybe the fine people at the Miller brewery are using some European variety of hops that are low in bitterness, hence the hopless taste. Or perhaps they just throw three little hop cones in their gargantuan batch of beer and call it triple-hopped. I’m guessing the latter. Questions? Comments? Beer date?  E-mail me at RossABell@gmail.com

photo by david.nikonvscanon [via Flickr, CC3.0] 1234567890 PLU 04’10

Forget What You Know About the VFW
by Anthony Castillo

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t was a Monday, only 7:15 p.m., but the dark blanket of stubborn cold and intrusive winds seemed to engulf every part of town except the ever-enlightened main drag. I was late. Shuffling my feet for blocks, as not to trip on the inconspicuous sheets of pressed ice that lie in wait and seem to almost peek out from underneath their traps of snow, I almost waddled on my journey north. The sign outside was trying its hardest not to sway in the wind. It represented honor and dignity to any Midwesterner worth his or her weight. The pride that the sign outside embodies is only trumped by the warm welcome you will receive from the staff and regulars. Cheap beer and a fresh selection of grub, plus one chance at a tantalizingly large pot every Monday, Thursday and Friday night during Bingo can only happen in one place: the VFW. Sitting across from Wells Fargo on Main Avenue, the VFW is the place to be Monday, Thursday or Friday at 7:00 p.m. if you want to try something new and get down with some Bingo. There are at least 21 games of each night, and you can buy as many score cards as you want. On Mondays, the cards are $9. On Thursdays and Fridays, the cards are $15. A little pricey? Not worth it? Think again. On Mondays you can potentially win $250. On Thursday or Friday there is a chance to win $500. Even if you don’t win the large cash pots, every game results in cash prizes. Most of the normal games give out about $10 to $20. That should be enough to pay for your games and maybe even some drinks at the bar. On that note, if the thrill of Bingo isn’t enough to tickle your fancy, the cheap beer and mixed drinks definitely will. You can’t go wrong with $3 Fat Tires, am I right? They also have some great food options too. The VFW has sloppy joes and other items that will round out every bit of your satisfaction. Some of the regulars bring delightful treats ($.50) and scrumptious sandwiches ($1.00) for the Monday evening games every now and again. If you’re from South Dakota and have ever had any homemade treats from Grandma or Grandpa, I think you know what I’m talkin’ about. As for the company, you can’t find smiles wider and more welcoming than at the VFW.

Dar Tolzin is the Commander of Post 2118. He sat down at our table for a while after the games and time after time, tale after tale, he pulled the carpet of expectation right out from under us.

Dar is from Preston, S.D. He played basketball there in his youth and explained how Preston’s basketball team became a formidable opponent in the Midwestern brackets around that time. I appreciated the time I spent with

photo by Anthony Castillo [ thepegleg.com ] 1234567890

Dar, as I’m sure everyone he meets undoubtedly does. He told us stories of how he used to coach the Haarlem girls softball team. No, not in New York; Haarlem in the Netherlands! He spent several years coaching them and told us stories of how different their perceptions and points of view are from our own. Dar recalls a moment when the team was getting ready for a game. He turned around to find all the girls in their underwear in broad daylight! You would be hard-pressed to find that scene in any American dugout. Someone commented on how they love all Dar’s stories. With a solid confidence about his experiences Dar replied, “I have never told you a story. Everything is the truth.” I took that as a statement from a man who has certainly learned from his travels. Dar may be a name that is synonymous with the VFW, but everyone inside has his or her own story to tell. Why not share some stories over a game of Bingo and a brew? I met a fun gal named Mel Lichty that night as well. Mel’s smile and easy-going attitude made my night even more enjoyable. Already knowing the answer, I asked Mel what the best part about Bingo nights are for her. “The cheap drinks and a chance to win some money,” said Lichty with an obvious assertion. Above all, the VFW holds the community as priority number one. All the paper that is used during the games is thrown into large disposal bins and recycled. All the can tabs go toward the Ronald McDonald House as well. That means you can do your part for your community by coming down and having a brew. Why wait? Power to the Community and the People.

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Prairie Poetics
by Kate Wegehaupt

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y secret wish is to be a poet. Seriously, give me paper, a feather quill and some bongo music, and I might just have stumbled across my future. You may laugh and say, “Kate. The starving artist so went out of fashion last year. And besides, do you really even have what it takes? Shouldn’t poets have lived a little? Experienced love or heartbreak or at least the death of the family dog?” That’s a good point. I guess buying my textbooks off the Internet (for the first time!) isn’t really nailbiting poetry material. But poets can write about anything, so I hear. Poe wrote about a raven and the word “nevermore” for pages and pages; I can only go up from there. My only real hindrance: I think I’m too cynical. Robert Burns, an eighteenth century poet, wrote that his love was “like a red, red rose / That’s newly sprung in June... like the melodie / That’s sweetly played in tune.” That perfect, eh? I’m not sure that’s accurate. It seems that most good poets wrote about what they knew - love, life, experience, etc. Usually in a giant simile. Burns must have been pretty head-over-heels about this girl, enough to disregard her faults (flaming pudding two nights in a row? The cow escaped again?) So he wrote about what he saw. If my goal is to be like those great poets (as blinded by love as they were), I need to take a cue from Burns. I should figure out something I know - that I encounter often -

and then write from the heart, as honestly as possible. Okay, I can do that. Time for a little brainstorming: I’m a girl. I live in South Dakota. Um. Eureka! As a female, I would like to think I’ve been observant and picked up a little knowledge on the way guys operate. And I know the weather in South Dakota stinks. Therefore:

You know, poetry really isn’t that hard. If Burns could crank out some silly flower-love comparison (how trite), I knew I could. And really, gentlemen. They say that a poet’s word is truth with a capital T. Maybe this whole “cynicism” thing will work out for me. Pulitzer, here I come.

Ode to the Winter Seasone of Men
(all the cool old poets added ‘e’s to the end of words)

O, what is man, but a South Dakota winter? Love comes in a spring jacket, then in a parka, all within one week. His brain signals, so like the electric lines that fail during a winter storm. The drip, drip, drip of my nose on the way to class, he is no kleenex. This snowMan; this lighthearted snowball chucked in my face. The ice sheets around his heart thaw to dirty slush, then freeze again. He is a frozen tundra of testosterone, a frostbit mind. As a bicyclist strives to cycle on slick sidewalks, so the wheels of my heart spin-out. I see a prehistoric yeti through the blizzard. It is man.

Things I’ve Learned on my Own…Most of them the Hard Way
by Catey Watkins

1. If you wear a messenger bag and a button

4. There is rarely such a thing as a “free drink.”
I’ve come to a point where I won’t accept drinks from men I don’t really know, because they’ll expect me to talk to them, and sometimes, it’s just not worth it. I don’t care about your high school football glory, especially not for a six-dollar drink. what degree and how well or how long they can hide it.

7. 13 beers will cancel out 5 miles of running 8. If he says he’s well-endowed, he probably
isn’t. Save yourself the disappointment. doctor, don’t do it.

up shirt, do yourself a favor: make sure it didn’t unbutton your top showing your bra to everybody (particularly if you’re interviewing with them). as attractive as you think you can after four hours of drinking. a jar of peanut butter and a brick of cheese is never a smart choice for supper. (Yeah, I ate the whole brick of cheese because I’m a college-level genius.)

- let me just save you the caloric math on that one.

2. You cannot sing/dance/talk in any manner 3. No matter how good of an idea it seems,

5. All women are crazy: it is only a matter to 6. You are always 2-3 times more likely to
skip an 8 a.m. class than any other. Don’t kid yourself; this year won’t be the one in which you break the cycle.

9. If you wouldn’t want to explain it to your 10. Sushi before tequila is a recipe for disaster. 11. Drunken bicycle riding is still dangerous,
especially if you’re going to try eating a stolen Popsicle and text at the same time. Good idea, princess.

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Gettin’ Gritty: IceFest 2010, Lantern Lounge
by ps>flux

A

t the risk of alienating yet another possible advertiser, I gotta call ‘um like I see ‘um: the Lantern Lounge is a sketchy joint. Nothing against the Lantern Lounge; I like partying here, I know a couple of the bartenders and the competition at the pool tables is unrivaled by the regulars of any other bar. I’m forever loyal to the Sully’s sharks, but I have seen more than one friend play some Friday night at the Lantern and get hustled. Somehow, the guys at this bar always introduce gambling into the competition. A cloud of indicators point to the Lantern as a place that enables a grittier sub-culture ethos than someplace like Skinners or 9 Bar: the bathrooms always smell like pot, the bouncers are the biggest, ugliest, neversmiling-est muthers and smells of body odor and sheetrock dust wander through the USA

tonight, he’s releasing his first full-length album. Along with Bo$$ Regis an array – “posse” or “crew” is common nomenclature for a large group in the rap scene – of other South Dakotan rappers perform. The multitude of performers is hard to keep track of. The Committed Committee is a group of eight performers, overlapping with another group: Night Shield Entertainment. Performing alongside these groups is Flame On, a group featuring solo artists Trey Lane, V the Noble One and AdApt, who also performs in Truth & AdApt and The Scaletippers. Artist after artist takes the stage over the course of the night, almost as quickly as the audience drains Lantern Teas and shots of Sailor Jerry. Trey Lane is a Sioux Falls native who’s pursued hip-hop for almost six years. He

Committee, and an amateur audience member trade freestyles back and forth. It’s easy to identify the professional’s rhymes compared to the clunky attempts of the other kid, but both guys are obviously enjoying themselves in a moment of pure improvisation. Trey Lane continues, “What identifies Midwestern hip-hop as much as anything is our cooperation. We work hard to build each other up. I put just as many hours towards rap as towards my day job, but it’s completely worthwhile. We all just dream of one day leaving a lasting impression on people with our music. I don’t want to be the next Tupac or the next Lil’ Wayne. I want to be the first Trey Lane, and that will never happen without all these other friends here to support and appreciate my work. I return the favor. We all love this shit.”

Gold haze over a dance floor half-covered in broken glass and spilled beer. Tonight, a bartender almost empties a bottle of tequila; there are a few drops left, so he shouts out to someone he must know and tosses the bottle across the room. The recipient, almost too drunk to stand already, shouts, “Thanks,” drains the bottl, and drops it on the Lantern’s uncarpeted cement floor. It breaks. A fight immediately erupts. I, for one, am feelin’ pretty comfortable tonight. It’s Thursday, January 28th, and the Lantern hosts Brookings’ first annual IceFest. Hosted by the non-profit organization Downtown Brookings Inc., this year’s IceFest headliner is Bo$$ Regis, a Brookings student and Brooklyn native. He’s worked hard for a couple years to break into the hip-hop scene;

looks remarkably like Biggie Smalls, except he wears a preppy long-sleeved polo and jeans so new they almost glitter. His clean baby face features a smile that obviously does not consume tobacco or coffee. He talks about the uniqueness of the Midwestern rap scene. “It’s hard to put a finger on what exactly makes the Midwest rap style,” he says. “We take elements from the East Coast, elements from the West, the Dirty South style.” He thinks for a moment. “That’s probably what makes us most unique, that we use parts of all those styles to cook together a completely new, unheard-of flavor. One that couldn’t happen anywhere but the Midwest.” Bo$$ Regis, the man of honor on this night, walks past and they exchange a high five. In a corner, Maniac, a member of Committed

photo by John Seward
Trey Lane excuses himself to set up some folding tables and make sure everything is ready for the show; he obviously considers himself at work tonight. “That’s what I love about that kid,” V the Noble One steps in. “He’s got an unbelievable work ethic.” V the Noble One is originally from Buffalo, N.Y., but moved to Sioux Falls almost twenty years ago. He’s been making and producing rap in South Dakota since 1994, helping give popular acts like Soulcrate Music Factory a foundation for success. Atmosphere played with him (not the other way around) at one of their first shows; it’s obvious from the interaction between the numerous artists here tonight that all the younger guys look up to V.

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“It feels so good to literally be writing the book,” he says. “That’s one thing you can never take from me: When this scene blows up, they can’t tell this story without me.” His attitude sounds a little boastful, but he’s earned it, grinding hard through years when no one within four states even listened to rap. “Your work, your music: it has to matter,” he continues. “Some kids in the underground, they act like it’s a badge of honor not blowing up. That’s ridiculous. We all workin’ for big success, but it becomes worthwhile as soon as you get fans – not just listeners, but true fans, the people who show up to your show because they need this music.” Working this long composing and producing, V has seen the massive turnover of amateur artists trying to break into the scene. I ask him about what it’s like to deal with the pervasive guys who think they can flow but really suck. He starts laughing, “I used to have to answer calls from those guys every day. Sometimes it would feel like I’d get a dozen dudes a day, hittin’ me up, like, ‘Man, just give me some studio time. Play some of my tracks.’ Well, I’m workin’ for my studio time. I’m playin’ my tracks. You gotta have something more. You can’t want harder than you work. Now, though - now I just give all those guys Trey’s number.” He laughs some more. “Work ethic is what sets all these guys apart tonight from some drunk dude trying to battle rap at a kegger. That’s what I like about Boss Regis, that’s what I like about Trey Lane. These kids are very hard workers.” As the show kicks off, it becomes very clear this is the place to be for individuals “keeping it real,” as it were. Some of the rappers, like Trey Lane and DJ AdApt, stay clear headed, working behind the table to sell merchandise and keep the sound quality at its peak. Others, like the members of Committed Committee, are obviously here for the party. Maniac and Night Shield slam bottles of Corona on the dance floor as AdApt rips through a set of sick songs – his verses sound intricate, very mechanically polished, with a dark edge that reminds one of a young Eminem with a Los Angeles accent. Trey Lane’s style stands out in its perfect formula; the artist has a flawless handle on the conventions of his gangster, metropolitan style. A crowd of gyrating females, looking like they are in a contest with the rappers to see who can get more wasted, surrounds the singing and dancing performers. Everybody at this show wants to be here. The crowd loves and knows the music. The performers have worked incredibly hard, enabling themselves to perform a genre that,

until a few years ago, only came from the Coasts and Deep South. Everybody in the bar is unified through the mutual dislike of cops, the refusal to rat out the group furtively getting high in the corner and the alcohol instigating fights and bringing dancing couples together. They are reciprocally fixated on pelvic regions, with one member significantly below what one can only assume would be the other partner’s un-inebriated standards of physical aesthetics. Keepin’ it real never felt so right. In the middle of the show, Committed Committee and Nightshield Entertainment (both groups overlap) take the stage. While Trey Lane and AdApt’s style is polished, stylish, thematically deep stoner-rap, Night Shield, Maniac, Philthy Fresh, Ron G, D.S.C., and a host of other misspelled symbolic phonetics (I asked if I could call them that) blow up with a maniacal, sloppy, out-of-control sound similar to an enunciated reinterpretation of Lil John’s “crunk” stylings. Night Shield and The Committee are clearly influenced by their background. Almost all of them grew up on reservations – even the white guy, Buddha. The Committed Committee’s performance continues; by this point in the show, the audience is getting crazy. It seems the rappers on stage and the people dancing are a chemical solution, waiting to reach the proper point of alcohol saturation before exploding into a cloud of motion, passion and energy. Maniac wears a gothic, sweat-smeared version of war paint around his eyes – like a homicidal raccoon. His hair sticks out in odd, tight French braids. The band’s lyrics share stories about growing up in poverty, living in a culture of alcohol abuse and desperate living. Nobody’s given these guys a thing. They’ve worked for it all; that much is clear from the explicit performance. At the climax of an intense dance beat, Maniac leads the crowd in a chant of “Hoka Ay!” I ask a few band members later what it means. They give me different spellings and definitions: “Hey, W’sup!” and “Fuck yeah! We in the house!” I catch a few of the guys in line leading to the Lantern’s disgusting bathroom – among them Maniac, D.S.C., Philthy Fresh, Ron G and Buddha. It doesn’t take long to ascertain these guys are hard for real. The glare at me as I ask a few questions, asking me what’s up with the notebook that I occasionally scribble in. Soon, they have me cornered against a slimy tile wall; I’m surrounded by huge men with tattoos on their necks and rippling forearms. “Listen man, w’sup with the little book - you like a reporter or somethin?” Philthy Fresh

asks. I slip my old Trusty out of an inside pocket on my bulky coat and whisper with it smoothly behind my notebook. The three men lined up at the urinals don’t even notice as the goodness disappears from whence it came, but the threatening rappers visibly relax. “Listen,” Philthy Fresh puts an arm around me, “Don’t make us all sound like a bunch of drunk Indians, just we all crazy and rep for the rez. We’re out here, doing our thing in this scene. But we always respect our background.” I ask more about how their heritage and tradition influence the music, to which they reply, “We Natives first, always take care of each other – always remember where we came from. But we also rappers mofo. Don’t ask the question – we hard and they all know it,” says Ron G. I ask about the “Hoka Ay” chant, curious if they have ever considered incorporating more Lakota into their music. Philthy Fresh visibly reacts and replies, “Aw, naw. We have to keep the language sacred. With white kids, you know how it’s cool to rebel or whatever; not us, we respect our elders.” Bo$$ Regis comes up last as the evening’s headliner. He performs several songs from his newly released album Da Good Sh!t. The performance had an extra edge this evening: both Bo$$ Regis’s parents moved to Brooklyn from Haiti. His show seems to be personally emblematic, his raw emotion laced with adrenaline burns as he pursues the dream of flashing lights and a screaming audience. Bo$$ definitely belongs in this environment. The first annual IceFest was part of the Midwest Rising Stars tour. Adapt and V the Noble One, along with the crew including Night Shield, Trey Lane, and Bo$$ Regis have performed several shows across the region, especially in Sioux Falls at Club David and Nutty’s. Downtown Brookings, Inc. organized the tour’s appearance in Brookings; John Seward, Downtown Brookings’ manager, has worked hard in the past year to highlight local bands, simultaneously creating activity and culture in Brookings. Check our website [www.thepegleg.com] for links to the artists appearing in this article, further reviews of local music, and other community and culture-building efforts courtesy of Downtown Brookings, Inc.

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Making Bubbles in Bonaire
by Benjamin D. Helder

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aybe you’ve heard of Aruba, famous for casinos, nightlife and beaches. Chances are you haven’t heard of Bonaire, which is an island just to the east of Aruba. These two islands, along with the exasperating Curacao, make up the “ABC Islands” of the Netherlands Antilles; the Netherlands owns all

three islands, yet they sit just above Venezuela about 70-80 miles. Bonaire (Dutch for “good air”) was my destination and domicile for the first week of 2010. Bonaire nonchalantly breaks the Caribbean tropical island mold: you can’t find a proper public beach anywhere (it’s all rocky),

the soil is at best comparable to the gravel road I grew up on, the flora is almost exclusively thorny bushes and 1 to 15-foot-tall cacti, the fauna consists of flamingos, iguana, goats, and donkeys, while the architecture, culture, and roughly half the people are…Dutch. It was all I could do to not burst into laughter when I

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was asked in a Dutch accent about my “fazha” (think Austin Powers 3). So why journey to Bonaire? The answer for most is scuba diving. Bonaire is quite unique in that its entire coast, all 81 miles, is surrounded by a pristine reef system, the protection of which dates back to the early ‘60s. Advances in diving technology during the ‘60s and ‘70s were paralleled by increasing reef protection on the part of the Netherlands

to see seahorses. Much to my chagrin, shark sightings are rare on Bonaire, as most larger critters do not frequent here, with the notable exception of dolphins, who frequently trail boats in groups of 20 or more. Diving is most definitely Bonaire’s strong point, as it has little else to offer. Well, I take that back; you could visit a donkey sanctuary if you’ve never seen one before, drive 30 miles through some potholes that resemble a road

Bonaire recovers a few points in the cuisine category. Around town, the hungry traveler will find cuisine with influences strong or subtle, overt or covert from Venezuela, Suriname, Argentina, Mexico, the U.S., Indonesia, China, Lebanon, Italy, France and the Netherlands, as well as the rest of the Caribbean. Many establishments are more European in their approach to serving, featuring three or more distinct courses and

Antilles government, as well as a number of fledgling on and offshore parks agencies. In many places, the reef has grown right up to shore, making Bonaire a haven for shore divers (as opposed to boat diving). While nearly the entire reef is divable, the BNMP (Bonaire National Marine Park) has designated 63 sites on the mainland and 26 on the satellite island Klein as official dive sites. Nearly all of these are on the leeward and more protected west side of the island, providing a growth-fostering environment for coral and smaller fish species, as well as hawksbill turtles and a handful of ray types. Bonaire is also one of the best places on earth

in Washington-Slagbaai National Park if that appeals or visit a “Naturist Resort” if you’re into that sort of thing. [http://www.sorobonbeachresort.com/] While decent deals from dive shops aren’t too hard to come by, everything else there will cost ya. Gas runs roughly $4 per gallon. Surprisingly, most grocery items, even produce, originate from the USA or Western Europe. Proper European meat cuts and cheeses are readily obtainable. This could be good or bad; the unadventurous palette will feel quite at home, while those seeking stereotypical Caribbean fare will be disappointed.

encouraging a slower pace to your dining. The outlying communities also feature more local fair. Many families serve passed-down dishes out of their homes or makeshift businesses. If you’re on Bonaire and looking for iguana stew, then you came to the right place. All things considered, visit Bonaire for the diving and not much else. My companions and I decided it’s marvelous as long as you’re under the water, but kind of dull if you’re out of it. If you plan to go, be sure to get a hold of me and I’ll steer you to the best dives. Safe bubbles!

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8 yrs old: Cloudy Day
by Gina Caciolo

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akota stood, toes curled in his sneakers, with his eyes focused on the line his feet were perched on. He waited. “I PICK TRUMAN!” His small palms stuck to the side of his green athletic shorts and he tugged on the back of his WILLIAMS ELEMENTARY t-shirt. “I PICK JENNY!” Mrs. Hinder was at the nurse’s station helping a student who tripped on his way out from gym. The lunch lady, subbing, sat in the corner, smoking a cigarette, and told the kids to, “Play nice, and stay away from my smoke.” “I PICK HENRY!” While his eyes were down, Dakota saw Journey kick the back of her heels together and the bright pink lights in her soles lit up like magic. A group of clouds drifted along under the sun, respecting its authority. One stray cloud slid along, showing off to the group and proving its willingness to be different. Journey turned and looked at Dakota. She whispered, “I heard your new nickname is Smell-face.” Her blue braces shined through as she giggled. Dakota attempted to pull the back of his shorts off his damp thighs. “I PICK MARY!” Dakota thought he could still smell the onions from his ham sandwich under his nose. “Onions suck. And you suck for liking them,” Ryan had taunted. Ryan had come up behind Dakota at the lunch table and smushed Dakota’s nose in between the pieces of rye. “You smell because of them. Smell-face. Stupid SMELL-FACE!” “No,” Dakota lied to Journey. “It’s not true.” She sniffed the air in his direction and took a few large steps back. The pink nail

polish on her fingers flapped in front of her nose. “I PICK JOURNEY!” Journey sprung forward and clapped high five with Ryan. Dakota adjusted his tiny glasses and sniffled. Ever since a gym class in first grade when Dakota got hit with four balls at once, no one has wanted him on their team. “It’s between ‘Baby Jamie’ and ‘Smellface.’” “Who do you want?” “I don’t want either.” “Me neither.” “The lunch lady isn’t gonna notice. Let’s just play one short.” “Hey yeah! It’ll still be even!” Dakota looked over at Jamie. Jamie stood at the end of the line with his coke bottle glasses and short shorts, and picked his nose. He was three inches shorter than everyone else and still hadn’t kicked his baby weight. He turned to Dakota. “You want to go look at the bugs that crawl around the tree?” By now, everyone had started playing dodgeball on the other side of the field. “Not really,” Dakota said. “I’m gonna go watch them play. Maybe somebody’ll get hurt and they’ll pick me.” Jamie nodded his head. “Good luck.” His weight bounced from one leg to the next as he wobbled over to the tree by the fence. Jamie plopped onto the spongy green grass and picked at bugs and put them in front of his thick glasses.

Heartbeats raced inside of Dakota’s chest. What if they did pick him? He thought about how he really was terrible at dodgeball. He sat against the wall of the school and watched the new game begin. Ryan counted out to three and everyone ran forward to retrieve the balls from the middle line. Several kids from both sides retrieved the beaming red orbs, but only half of them survived. Dakota paid the most attention to Journey. The lights in her shoes danced as she jolted away from the balls being thrown at her. Ringlets of brown hair bounced on her shoulders. “Hey! Smell-face!” Ryan yelled. “What do you think you’re doing over here?” “I’m just watching.” Dakota felt his shoulders tense. “I didn‘t say that was ok.” Balls continued to fly as Ryan’s knuckles turned red and both of his hands gripped the ball tighter. Dakota pulled his knees up to his chin. He closed his eyes and buried his nose in between his knees “HEY! Smell-face! I’m not done.” Dakota turned his head as one of the balls flew towards him. He couldn’t duck fast enough and the ball landed hard against his face, breaking his glasses. Broken shards of glass sprinkled onto his bare legs; small cuts formed along his thighs. Tiny droplets of blood formed as tears developed in Dakota’s eyes.

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Everyone stopped playing to point and laugh. Mrs. Hinder ran across the pavement and blew her whistle. “I get a sub for five minutes and this is what happens?” she said. “Everyone stop laughing right now. Dakota, dear, are you ok?” Mrs. Hinder hustled over to him and slowly helped him up. Throbbing pains shot into his nose, and he lightly shook his head from side to side. “Oh, you poor thing. Let’s get you inside,” Mrs. Hinder said. Dakota squinted but couldn’t see a thing. He stuck out his hand for Mrs. Hinder to take it and she grabbed it and pulled him along back into the school. He cried a little harder and Mrs. Hinder stopped and leaned down next to him. “Dakota, just don’t worry. The nurse’ll clean you up.” Dakota sniffled again and nodded his head. He walked into the nurse’s station. The kid who had tripped earlier was still in there. Without his glasses, Dakota couldn’t see who it was, so he quietly and slowly pulled his scarred legs up and over the plastic cushion and sat next to the other kid. Dakota looked down and saw the kid had bandages on his legs. They sat in silence until the other kid broke it. “The nurse is in bathroom,” he said. “Oh, ok,” Dakota said. He squinted again but couldn’t even make out the eye chart that he knew was at the end of the room. All the browns of the wooden closets and whites of

the motivational health posters blurred in front of him. “Who are you?” Dakota asked. “Steven,” he said. “I’m new.” Through his already squinted eyes, Dakota could see that Steven had darker skin than his own and had noticed he talked a little different than anyone else in his class. “I’m Dakota.” “Cool,” Steven said. “I’m from Texas. I just moved here a week ago. I didn’t have to come to school until today.” “Wow. So you didn’t have school for a week?” “Yeah, it was pretty awesome.” “That is so cool. Did you play games the whole time?” “Well,” Steven said. “My dad is a truck driver. And he drove to New Jersey and back. So I got to go with him.” Dakota paused and his jaw lowered. “That. Is. So. Cool.” “Yeah, my dad is the coolest. So… what happened to you?” Nervously, Dakota moved his hands under his butt, sat on them, and rocked from side to side. “I tripped too.” “That’s a bad trip.” They both laughed. Dakota’s eyes had slowly started to adjust. He still couldn’t see anything, but he felt comfortable without his glasses on. The nurse had come in and cleaned up Dakota’s cuts and helped him find the sink so he could wash his face. “So, you’ll have to go back to class,” the nurse told Steven. The cold water splashed over Dakota’s face and he took in deep breaths; it felt relaxing to him. Fingers tapped on his shoulder as he turned around.

“Other than your glasses you look alright to me,” the nurse said. “But because you can’t see, if you want to stay in here and rest until the end of the day, that’s alright with me.” Dakota rocked from one foot to the other. He squinted at Steven. Everyone was going to want to play with Steven. He had an accent and his dad drove a truck. He’d be popular in an instant. “I want to go back outside.” Dakota rubbed his eyes with his fists and squinted at Steven. Dakota thought he saw Steven smiling and he felt better about his decision. The nurse shrugged her shoulders. “Let‘s get you two back outside, right?” Dakota turned toward Steven and even though he couldn’t see his eyes, Dakota knew they each had the same idea. They nodded their heads agreeably. The nurse took each of their hands and walked them down the long, dingy hallway. The bright light from the outside poured onto them as they walked outside. The nurse walked over to Mrs. Hinder and the two chatted. Dakota took in a deep breath. “Do you want to go lay in the field and look at the clouds?” Dakota said. “Can you see them?” Steven asked. Dakota nodded and smiled. “Ok,” Steven said. “Last one to the grass is a rotten egg.” Steven took off towards the field and Dakota followed. He heard Ryan yell in the background. Something about onions and the new kid. He ignored it. He pumped his legs as hard as he could and when he made it to the grass he collapsed, took in deep breaths, and stared at the blurry white forms in the sky.

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Like Pot, But Not: It’s Legal, But Stay Scared [from thepegleg.com]
by cuneiform:ation

A

video aired Thursday, Feb. 25, on KSFY times more powerful than marijuana, listing its kind that grows in rich forest soil out in the Action News. Although we must effects as, “violent seizures, powerful hallucinanatural sunlight next to the ocean with purple appreciate KSFY’s attempt to inform regional tions, and severe panic.” No citation is given hairs and shiny crystals clinging to it. No citizens of a potential new development in the for this statement. herb can match the vibe encrypted in those realm of feelin’ good, the segment contains I can only cite a certain amount of flowers… but I digress. In any case – none of a lot of propaganda and straight-up wrong personal experience in the matter, but I feel it this legal stuff is gonna make you hallucinate. information. is relevant and valid within the context. I’ve The problem is that KSFY explicitly First, we must acknowledge a certain smoked more than a little pot. Some of it does not ask the right questions to be good amount of dissonance between the ideological high-quality, some of it nasty and crunchy, like journalists. Media has a responsibility to give orientation of KSFY and ThePegLeg.com. the herb equivalent of Top cigarette tobacco. balanced, rational details rather than making While KSFY obviously approaches this I’ve also sampled some of the herbal alarming, irrational claims. Rather than makissue with a bias that ingesting marijuana is smoking products marketed as “legal pot.” ing scary links to hard drugs through imposing unhealthy and dangerous, the PLU generally Salvia divinorum used to get marketed in this description and clips of opiate and amphetelects to avoid any qualitative value judgments way occasionally, although as a sage featuramine use, shouldn’t KSFY give us some facts beyond the basic acknowledgment that some ing good ’ol 5-MAO, it’s in a little different about the substance? I want to know what it people smoke some things, some people don’t category than reefer. However, I’ve sampled is, not what it’s like. An intelligent, engaged and some people try to make and enforce legal herbal smokes like a’hia bud, “spice,” media consumer is going to want more rules. I’m a little disappointed to see this news daganda and canavalia rosea. They’re all pretty relevant information when they’re making a channel – one I’ve watched since I was a kid good. They’re relaxing, last longer than a decision about what to think when presented – evidence such an obvious lack of journalistic tobacco buzz and don’t make you feel dirty with something new and foreign. I would like objectivity. However, such is the cultural or give headaches like nicotine does. They’re to know how long it lasts, what kind of things climate these days, particularly in the Midwest. much cleaner – instead of smoking an overit encourages the user to think about, and how I still love it here, but I’m probably going to processed, chemical-laced cigarette, they come exactly it impairs the user. take KSFY Action News with more Well, since KSFY didn’t salt than I used to. do the job, ThePegLeg.com will You’ve gotta love the opening gladly fill the gap. The psychoacline: “It’s the popular new way tive component in the K2 incense for kids to get high and not get product is JWH-018 – a synthetic caught…” Apparently we are more cannabinoid which interacts with focused on enforcing the constructhe brain in much the same way as tions of hierarchy and discipline THC (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ than public safety, but I digress. In JWH-018). any case, it is not long before the Perhaps KSFY could have news anchor does assert this new done some real research like the substance’s threat, stating, “This will Phoenix New Times, which recently get you high like marijuana, but is cited an actual user as describing, “I not marijuana. For the moment it is smoked some of this one night when very legal, and very dangerous.” I was watching a movie, and this The article goes on to share really warm feeling started at the top K2’s resemblance to marijuana, citof my scalp and just slowly moved ing its availability at seedy sex-shops down my face and head. I was on the Video courtesy KSFY.com via ThePegLeg.com. Watch and read here: (while showing video of a straw edge of my seat watching this movie, http://thepegleg.com/2010/02/k2-feel-good-and-stay-out-of-jail/ over a steaming heroin spoon and a but I felt really, really mellow. And crack pipe being lit) and an option to “Factor to you in a nice, clean bud with real leaves and all it took was one hit.” Well, that certainly in something potent but legal like K2 and the stems. Many plants out there have little treats does sound like a dangerous way to be feeling, list of things that can be used and abused gets for us if we use them in the proper manner. especially if one is going to go out and do longer and longer.” Some of these products give you a better high something seriously crazy like watch a movie. Up to this point the news segment’s tone than low quality pot. None of them get you as Visit this site to read an archive of has been reactionary and over-hyped, but high as real dank. That’s why these are legal. people’s analytical descriptions of their hasn’t contained any overt untruths. However, If KSFY news-anchor Brian Allen thinks experiences on products containing JWH-018: KSFY quickly begins to flirt with this margin. the stuff is two to three times better than pot, [http://www.erowid.org/experiences/subs/ They go on to state that K2 is two to three he’s probably not getting very good pot – the exp_Products_Spice.shtml]. No descriptions

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of hallucinations appear; one user states, “It gave me effects extremely similar to those from Magic Silver [an analogous “legal marijuana”], though possibly slightly stronger. One smallish hit through a water pipe also resulted in a strong marijuana-like high that lasted for around 3 to 3.5 hours, and included time distortion, euphoria, stress reduction, great creativity and personal insight, heightened flow of ideas, and increased appreciation of music and art. It also helped me relate to my children with increased compassion and insight into how to reconcile some of their differences. The poem I wrote, by the way, still looks really good, to me, the next day. Very creative, with unusual and interesting metaphors and rhythmic patterns. I like it!” Other users described it as “Basically cannabis, minus the fun,” “Nearly identical to MJ but longer lasting” and “A pleasant cannabis alternative,” The strongest sensory perceptions seem to include a state of everything glowing and mildly undulating on some metaphysical plane. One of these drugged-out, worthless, addicts described the experience in this manner: “The effects come on in 10 minutes and are intense waves of relaxation, feeling carefree, munchies, red eyes, etc. All the same side effects of MJ besides paranoia. Overall I can’t say how happy I am with this. Even though it contains the synthetic cannabinoid JWH-018 that doesn’t bother me. I have done a lot of research on this chemical and I honestly do not think its any more harmful than THC but this is all speculation since more research and testing needs to be done. I have not noticed any negative effects except during one burn I had a bit of stomach discomfort but I think it was due to my diet that day as it hasn’t happened since. No hangover or lethargy the next day either which is great since weed tended to make me feel very lazy and unmotivated even the next morning.” It’s important to note that these products are intended for use as incense. Maybe users should try putting it in a burner, sitting over it, and meditating, as intended. I’ll talk more about this later. For insight on this new development in the drug world, KSFY interviews the Director of Chemical Dependency Services for Volunteers of America in Sioux Falls. I’m not sure this man is going to have a relevant perspective on the substance, since he probably regularly deals with hard, burnt-out addicts who have reached rock bottom – essentially, he’s not exactly interpreting a “representative sample.” I doubt he has much, if any, experience with K2

users from his position. In fact, I guarantee the majority of the people he works with are not even working through marijuana addictions or overdoses. Sure, people from sketchy backgrounds are more likely to smoke pot, and people with addictive personalities may be heavy smokers, but the ranks of non-affected, high-functioning marijuana users makes clear that the simple use of this substance is not an ultimately deciding factor in life quality. Please do not interpret me as a pro-marijuana, or even pro-K2, spokesperson. I have made certain choices in my personal lifestyle, but I acknowledge smoking has drawbacks, and I’ve never tried the actual K2 product, so I might not know what I’m talking about. The product does have draw-backs, one being that we may not know the manufacturing laboratory or see an ingredients list. However, you won’t get these things on a piece of beef from the grocery store either. However, one must also consider the aspect of this generic origin being a product of a prohibitive society. Basically, these manufacturers of a perfectly legitimate, currently legal product still must fear the wrath of individuals like South Dakota Attorney General Marty Jackley, who, according to the news anchor, ”Knows all about K2.” Jackley feels that, “Although there are no state or federal laws that call K2 out as an illegal substance, there are federal and state laws that make possessing and ingesting a product with obvious drug characteristics a crime, and he is ready to use those existing laws.” No wonder this product’s originators don’t think it wise to identify themselves. One can see the whole issue of people smoking a substance meant to be used as incense is a result of Pot-hibition. If people could just find healthy, all-natural herb, they wouldn’t have to turn to inhaling unknown, synthetic compounds. Think about it this way: when cocaine was legal, they put small doses of it in soda pop. Soda pop has never been so good. During cocaine prohibition, people have turned to chemically distilling the psychoactive elements of the product further and further, eventually winding up with crack, which has ruined a lot more lives than Coca-cola, and that’s saying something. If our society cracks down on substances like K2, they will simply be seeing more potent, more heavily distilled versions of JWH-018 appearing in increasingly more dangerous, more violent underground circles. I think it sounds great to put a dropper of this JWH-018 on the patchouli in my oil burner and sit down for a nice meditation session.

Possibly the most troubling skewed rhetoric in the piece comes from Allen’s utilization of a generic high-school girl to further drum up the dangers of “these kids all on drugs these days.” While talking to this girl, the footage asserts that kids are doing a lot of drugs – stuff like Oxycodin and Xanax. Apparently, high school kids are fighting, cheating and stabbing each other in a dangerous black market cycle of hard opiate consumption. Brian Allen went and bought three bags of K2 online just because he could, and nobody was hurt. This should show us how, whether or not the substance is healthy, the thicker the prohibitive system, the more traumatic the consumption society becomes. According to the girl in Allen’s interview, she has two groups of friends: those who don’t do drugs, and those who are high all the time. The group of kids who are high all the time is definitely the larger, she says. KSFY never considers that perhaps, since all these kids are capable of going through life high all the time and nobody has noticed (obviously, since the news is presented as shocking and groundbreaking), maybe it doesn’t ruin their lives as much as we would like to believe. Another recent news story further illustrates this point. A recent drug bust in Watertown has one neighbor marveling that people on his block could be using drugs. A KSFY story on the incident says: “‘I’ve got power wheels driving around here all summer long. A complete fleet.’ Steve Hahn has lived in this neighborhood for 9 years and says he knows his neighbors very well, many of them with kids and that’s why the bust has him so concerned. ‘I was wondering if they were here in the summertime, because you know those kids are out and about all over the place.’” Maybe the fact that he and his kids have been able to live a safe, happy, normal life in the proximity of people who get high should make him feel safer around people who get high. There was no trouble in this neighborhood until the cops showed up. In any case, I’m troubled by the blinderedperspectives and vicious, prohibitive rhetoric present in our legal and media hierarchies. Maybe limited perspectives and aggressive attitudes are what I should expect from people who don’t get high enough. I’m not sure nor in a position to assert this. In any case, we ought to know by now that prohibition doesn’t work. Eventually somebody will get smart – unfortunately, for the moment, it doesn’t seem to be KSFY Action News.

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@Tuesday, Art Museum 2010 @ 7 PM 20th at 7:00 P.M. the SDSU April 20th on Tuesday, April
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