The Monkey King's Used Primate Emporium and Book Reviews

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Noam Chomsky, "Keeping the Rabble in Line"

Started August 7 � Finished August 8, 2002; 320 pages. Posted 20 August 2002

(This is part 11 of an 18-part story, which begins here. Part 5 is here. And here is where you find part 10. Part 15? Right here. And the end of this entirely too long story is located here. After that, you�re on your own.)

The trail reappeared finally, making me think that for some reason, every person that had ever passed this trail decided to walk in the exact same footsteps, hence why it was so small and nearly impassible. But I�m beating it. This trail isn�t going to force me to turn back! I�m young and robust and full of health! I�m like Hemingway, only without the guns and the stupid safari clothing! I light a cigarette, my first of the hike, showing my contempt for the nature trail.

And speaking of guns and safari clothing, I pass a faded sign announcing that hunting season is now in session. There are two trails: One designated for hikers, the other for people with guns and crossbows (again bringing up visions of Deliverance. The sign is so faded that there are no arrows left showing which trail is which. Underneath the directions, there is a warning:

BRIGHT CLOTHING SHOULD BE WORN AT ALL TIMES!

I look at my clothes � I�m wearing a dark gray T-shirt. My shorts are home-altered Army issue camouflage pants.

I�m gonna die.

I pick the trail to the right only because it looks more traveled, hoping that the percentage of hikers to hunters is higher in this area. The trail eventually widens out and leads along the tip of the mountain. I see nothing remotely resembling game, so I�m pretty sure I�ve made the right decision. The trail also moves on a downhill slope, so the hike is easy. I walk fairly briskly, no longer even sweating, and finally out of the mosquito-ridden marsh areas. I continue to march along, looking out over the edge where the bright green mountainside meets with the golden beaches, melting away into a blue ocean that stretches out so far that you can�t tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins.

I�m practically skipping along the narrow trail, despite the fact that there is a 1000-foot drop on either side of me. Finally I reach some more solid ground, passing a boulder to the left and run into a gate, just past the four-mile marker.

There is a sign on the gate that reads �END.�

Now technically, isn�t that wrong? If it were truly the end, wouldn�t I be sipping drinks out of a piece of fruit right now? At the least, shouldn�t there be a ski lift or something to bring me back to the starting point?

I mentioned the comparison of hiking to video games earlier. I�m not sure which category this falls under. Yes, the view is spectacular, featuring the best vista out of the entire hike. But there�s also a sign reading �END� It might have well said, �Thank you for playing.� And really, shouldn�t it say �HALFWAY POINT�? Because since I�m not sipping drinks out of pieces of fruit, and the fact that there isn�t any kind of ski lift apparatus to bring me back to the starting gate, this simply means that I have to turn around and hike over four miles to get back.

I take some pictures, smoke another cigarette, and jump around a little on this mountaintop that I have to myself, but then realize that there�s nothing left to do but turn around and go back.

And what seemed like a gentle slope on the way to the �end� has now turned into an enormous incline. Okay, maybe smoking wasn�t such a hot idea. Those trade winds that kept me so cool earlier have disappeared and now all I have is the sun beating down on me. My clothes are sticking to me with my sweat.

I smell worse than most of my friends. And each time I finally reach the top of one hill, I look up only to see another, bigger hill.

The hike has now turned into a forced march. I�ve seen a total of seven people on this hike, and I haven�t seen anybody who made it this far. If I slip or dehydrate, I�m pretty much fucked. All I can do is keep going, even though my legs are starting to scream in protest, and this comes from a guy who rides a bicycle everywhere. Chomsky talks about keeping the rabble in line? Put them on this hike. I�m ready to do whatever is asked of me in exchange for a ride.

I stop and balance on a fallen tree in order to catch my breath and to slap on more sunblock, all of which must have sweated off my body over the last hour. �Well,� I figure, �I wanted to lose about five pounds anyway. If it doesn�t happen from the hike, I�ll lose it in flesh when my skin peels off my bones from the sunburn I�m bound to get. A pound of flesh for every sin? Is that how the saying goes?

Eventually I reach the marsh area again, the bugs loving me even more because I�m not only fresh meat, but I�m marinated in a sweet pungent sauce that came out of my pores. Now that I�m finally shielded from the sun by the tall trees, it begins to rain but only long enough to wash away whatever sunblock I had just put on.

I reach the first mile marker. I�m almost at the final, actual END. I know there�s a touristy restaurant at the parking area, which has got to be insanely overpriced, as it�s the only place that�s open in this area for the next ten miles, as we�re near the top of a mountain side. I don�t care if the drinks cost twenty bucks each � I�m buying a mai tai as soon as I get there.

And finally, I�m at the end. We walk a short distance back to the parking lot where the bar is located, and ass soon as it comes into view, I see the deserted parking lot (aside from one lonely BMW), I know they�ve shut down for the day. We both climb into the car slowly, groaning all the while.


Rating: Worth used prices.

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