Wah-Fuckin-Hoo! Bluesfest!

This is a re-post from August, 2004, in honor of the fact that school doesn't start in our district until August 27. This means that it no longer interferes with the Bayfront Blues Festival in Duluth, Minnesota which I've been unable to attend these past two years.

I was also brought to mind of this post by a conversation I just had with The Boy (my brother). Pretty soon I'll post something about him. And it won't even be insulting. Promise.

So here it is, my delusion from 2004 when I realized I could afford yet another Minnesota trip. And I do mean "trip." Read on:

Mission Possible

The plan:

My co-conspirator will arrive at 4:15 AM on Friday, August 13 and bring me to the pre-arranged destination. From there I will endure a high-level security check which may or may not include body orifices. This will determine whether or not I enjoy it.

If they suspect me in any way, I will endure intense questioning while locked in an empty room, via a loudspeaker which was salvaged from a drive-in-movie theater in the 1970s. When I don't answer, they will blindfold and handcuff me, and threaten me with bodily harm, or at least have me listen to a really lame security guy old enough to be my son and not yet old enough to quit his acne medication try out really bad pick-up lines on me.

Seven minutes later, I will escape unscathed.

Moving quickly to the rendezvous point, I will attempt undercover observation. I must keep my wits about me. Any personnel in the area could be the enemy.

Could be one of them.

The people I betrayed over a decade ago and have been running from ever since.

My flight has not been easy. I had to exchange my resistance of one elemental extreme for the other. I have had to learn to stop my car behind the go line. I have even had to endure the shame of having to call Dubya my Governor and assume the identity of someone who does not politically and intellectually reject the concept with every fiber of my being.

I married a Republican. I had to take on a mundane occupation which enabled me to continue my subversive research of various multi-conglomerate businesses. With the assistance of out-of-state financiers, I purchased a house far beyond my means, and began driving a vehicle that had a MPG far below what my conscience could have tolerated in my former life. I even stopped recycling.

With the help of a programming genius, I managed to conceive not one but two offspring with recessive characteristics typical to those I flee from. This may be necessary in the future if I am ever to be assigned a covert position back among those who seek to bring me back.

Once again, I have been called. The orders came from above--far above--the tiny little empire of suburban utopia which I have managed to gain control over.

They came from the entity known only as AA, in the form of an airfare so ridiculously low, it tipped me off to inquire further. Sure enough, it contained an encoded message. Go back among them. Act as they do. Speak as they do. Sunburn as they do.

Along with dread, I also felt a certain thrill at once again being called upon to subvert the dominant paradigm. To gather what information I can, and to retreat unscathed from those who, if they caught me, would once again assimilate me.

The enemy.

Minnesotans.

I will report further, from the next rendezvous, which is to take place with one I am told is so genetically similar to myself, that I must be her clone. Though this thought disturbs me, I must accept it. I can only assume the superiority I have over her in terms of height, IQ, and body mass are due to improvements made at the secret facility hundreds of miles away which is disguised as a food storage facility for the government, in case of emergency.

The pattern is beginning to emerge.

The Briefing

There's a snag in the plan. Those who control the cloning facility where I was created have discovered my new mission. They aren't happy. Though they no longer control my training, and no longer finance it, they feel that prior association--nay, my own creation--entitles them to attempt to influence the powers I answer to.

That's not the only problem. The other operatives present quite a quandry.

There's the SkyDog--a brilliant athlete who used to infiltrate large gatherings behind the Iron Curtain--when there was one. Now that the Iron Curtain no longer exists, his skills have fallen from favor. That, and the fact that he failed a major mission in 1988 which precluded his ability to infiltrate a clandestine international gathering in Calgary that year. He never bounced back as an operative.

However, his smuggling skills are astounding. I can't even begin to describe the sheer tonnage of "goods" he brings into the country each year, and does this without falling on the wrong side of the authorities.

Except for the Coast Guard. He's got it in for the Coast Guard, and they for him. The grudge started years ago when he was communications operative for a shipment. Things got out of control and the Coast Guard implemented steps that led to the shipment having to dump its "ballast," eventually leaving it stranded.

That one made the papers.

What's the problem with SkyDog? His memory. He's lost it. He is to be my transportation, and yet I have no idea if he remembers. My only choice is to relay information through the entity that ordered this mission: AA. And AT&T. But mostly AA.

Then there's PeeWee. A specialist in aquatic infiltration--he's the best. Over water, under water, through the sewers. He's under such deep cover, he works as an employee in the city where I am to carry out my mission. He's worked there for years. That in itself indicates to me how long this mission has been planned, unbeknownst to me.

Recent events make me suspect sabotage, and he agrees. Yesterday, one of his power sources went off grid and he was forced to control the situation. He and his partner were left with half power, cut off from everyone, stuck in the middle of territory controlled by yet another adversary: loggers.

I have no idea what to do about the loggers. And I have more operative profiles to review. More preparations to make. More wardrobe choices to consider. More beer to consume.

The success of the mission is no longer within my power. Please advise.