Mysterious Missing Torches and Modems in the USA

I cannot say better than the Jim Christie and Amanda Beck of Reuters today (http://homepage.bresnan.net/feeds/displayNewsMLArticle.aspx?file=792110), what happened to the Olympic torch in San Francisco: "The Olympic torch's only stop in North America turned into the mystery of the missing flame on Wednesday, as San Francisco abruptly changed the route, angering both China supporters and protesters.

"Thousands of people converged along the announced scenic Embarcadero waterfront route. But after the opening ceremony, the first runner was flanked by blue-clad Chinese security officials and carried the torch into a warehouse. The torch eventually turned up miles away, leaving crowds baffled...

(Aside: Come on, people, you were really baffled by this?)

"San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom told Reuters that the route had to be radically changed at the last minute or the event canceled to ensure public safety.

"The bewildering changes united supporters and protesters who had been divided by politics. Both sides were angered by the sudden changes to the only North American leg of the torch's journey to the Beijing Olympic Games in August.

"'I think it's cowardly. If they can't run the torch through the city, it means that no one is supporting the games,' said Matt Helmenstine, 30, a California high school teacher who carried a Tibetan flag."

No one is supporting the games, Matt. These thousands of people are supporting a political struggle, one side or the other, choosing to become incited and impassioned by a cause without knowing the historical or political or social or ethnic or religious background or implications of the issue entirely, just like when Bush and his guys took us into Iraq on a quick jaunt to liberate the people and disseminate democracy. (So, why isn't he more popular? We seem to understand the mentality, en masse.)

Meanwhile, back in Laramie, I have chosen to become incited and impassioned by an event that offends my notion of human decency, no matter the culture, the politics, the time or the place. So, the Future First Man (just because April is hard, like Mexico, on me, and I took a really short hiatus from this blog, doesn't mean I'm not still campaigning. And just because neither Obama nor Hillary is expected to appear on Stephen Colbert's Philadelphia road show doesn't mean that he won't invite me along at the last minute)... anyway, the FFM ordered a modem so he could connect his new laptop for superfast internet. It did not arrive as scheduled on Monday. On Tuesday when he called Qwest to find out why, he was told the modem had been delivered via UPS and signed for. No, he had not signed; he had been at work. The woman at Qwest actually argued with him about whether or not he had been at work. This is enough to get a person all het up. At least me. Eventually, he learned that the modem actually had been delivered to Apartment 2 in his building, not to his apartment, and had been signed for there.

He went downstairs to Apartment 2 and found the occupant with the package opened (a package that had been addressed to him, the Future First Man.) The occupant claimed to have called Qwest to ask why the company had delivered him a modem, but had been put on hold and didn't want to wait for the answer. (Well, this is America, after all.)

I ask you, why would you sign for a package that was addressed to someone else? That had someone else's name on it? And then bring it into your apartment, in the same building, even, and open it and keep it as though you had purchased it your own self and possessed it outright?

A) Because some idiot put the wrong apartment number on the package, so it's mine. It came to my apartment. Who cares what the name says?

B) Because I am a starving college student, and no one has brought me to a free steak dinner in ages, so I need to sell it and use the money for a steak- and beer- and cigarettes if I have any leftover.

C) Because I am a straight-up thief.

If you answered A, I am at your door right now with my jacknife. B, you will wash the Future First Man's dishes until we move to Aubergine House, and I will think about throwing you a steak once in a while. Or at least some bones. Once we get in the house, your duty will expire, and so will the steak opportunity. You will not be allowed through the doors of such a hallowed establishment. If you answered C, a harmless looking young man from Antwerp with black hair and dark framed glasses, wearing a sweater from the 80s and arse kicking tight red pants, who likes to strike The Thinker pose while sitting in the frames of large windows, will be at your door soon to kick your arse.

This is a true story.