Looks like Kentucky joins West Virginia in the classification of racist states… but let’s not ignore the elephant in the room.

9 out of 10 people who said they were voting based on race were white Clinton supporters. 65 percent are conservatives, many of whom have no intention of voting for a Democrat in the General Election. That ought to tell you something.

——–

The timeline of the following story, while generally linear, tends to overlap at times for the sake of continuity and readability. All of it, however, is accurate to the best of my recollection. It’s long and probably self-effacing. The majority of it was written between 10pm last night and 3am this morning while watching the results of the Oregon primaries, and is probably poorly written as a result. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

——–

A few weeks ago I revealed to a new group that I had voted for Bush in 2000 and was once a staunch Conservative Christian Republican with nothing but contempt for “the liberals” and “the liberal media.” On a political quiz in one of my college courses, I ranked just to the right of Rush Limbaugh.

Instead of ridicule, I was simply asked why. I explained that I had attended a Christian high school when I first discovered politics and my main influences were fundamentalist and conservative. They asked,”What was the mindset were you in though? What info which was later dispelled? You have a special insight here and it’s a good opportunity to understand what goes on over there. Furthermore, how exactly did you turn, and with what info?”

My response: “I don’t even know where to begin.” Really, it’s not an easy answer.

The Early Years.

My mother is a devout Christian and has always tried to lead by that example. During my youth, we attended church infrequently, mainly on holidays or other special events. Then we came upon a small church that was meeting in the Notre Dame high school’s auditorium once a week. They called themselves Northwoods.

Looking back on it, I can see where the appeal came from. The group was comprised of a few hundred people of many demographics. Every Sunday there were sweets and baked goods in the lobby, contributed by members of the church (and naturally, as a pre-pubescent boy, my favorite part of the gathering). It was a place you could go without being judged, one which offered a different approach to faith.

On stage, there was a live band–something I would have never imagined after attending the long, dreary sermons of other area churches where counting sheep meant surveying the number of poofy white hairdos atop grumpy faces. Unlike these sleep factories, this church didn’t spend the first thirty minutes of the service singing obscure, ancient hymns. Instead, they sang a few contemporary songs and had a drama presentation. After that, the sermon was energetically delivered by a young and charismatic pastor. The body of followers was enthusiastic and on the grow, signaling a fundamental change in marketing–thus evangelizing–that was proving to be more than merely effective; it was revolutionary.

After the church had grown some and I became active in group activities and volunteering in both youth productions and Sunday services as part of the stage crew, I eventually joined the ranks of the “born again” after attending a Christian concert (then, not quite grasping the concept of Christian salvation, once again at another concert). I was excited about it, giddy almost. It was new and inviting even as I was finding my niche.

A few years went by and I ended up at a local Christian high school after petitioning to gain acceptance. More bonus. By this time I wasn’t exactly excited in my faith anymore, but I wasn’t adverse to it. I felt as if I had grown more mature, that arbitrary rebellion was childish and had developed a bit of a disdain for those who weren’t at my level (parental rebellion, naturally, was still fair game). Looking back on it now, obviously, I remember being as confused as anyone that age.

It was during this time that I began to develop an idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I was adept at music, being able to passably play any instrument I tried after a short period of time. I was also technologically proficient, having surpassed the majority of my peers with my knowledge and abilities in using and maintaining a PC. However, I also had an insatiable thirst for intellectual endeavors in the areas of history and psychology.

Then, something strange happened. In the wake of the uniquely teenage style of depression following my first major romantic rejection (a complete comedy of errors on my part, by the way), I found something to cling to. After being introduced and becoming involved in the straightedge and local hardcore music scenes, animal rights and social awareness, my world history teacher assigned me to write a report on a book by none other than Rush Limbaugh.

I was already familiar with his conservative rants and remarks from being in class with the dittohead teacher. After immediately discovering how unpopular it was to be a Democrat in a Christian school (and after being called a “Demoncrat” by one of my friends) I became completely apolitical. After all, I had only identified with the Democrats because my family was largely comprised of centrist Democrats. What did it matter to me?

It never occurred to me that I ought to challenge my history teacher on anything he had to say. For starters, challenging the teachers on any matter was strongly discouraged, and even punishable by disciplinary action (as apparently free thinking is un-Christian and equates to disrespect in the eyes of the administrators). More significant was the fact that I didn’t even know there was another side. The only information we were given was slanted to the right. The only thing we had to know about liberals and liberalism is that they were bad and immoral. End of discussion.

Who could blame me for blindly agreeing with everything I read in Limbaugh’s book, even the parts slamming the environmentalists and animal rights activists? What source was I to draw on to balance my understanding of the topics that were being presented? Certainly not the school library, filled as it was with Christian-themed books, the most arguably liberal tomes in the collection being classic poetry (which I still happened to read frequently).

I scored an A on the report after sacrificing the night to breeze through the second half of the book and come up with a coherent presentation. The teacher was giddily asking me to share my thoughts on certain parts of the book, then barely able to conceal his laughter as I worked through one point after another, as told by El Rushbo himself.

Before the next student even started his presentation, by the time I had settled in my seat, one deafening thought drowned out all others: I was pretty damn good at this.

Warrior for God

After learning to talk the talk, I was getting better at walking the walk. I still had a love affair with secular music that my peers said I needed to “turn over to God,” but other than that I was a stalwart Christmeister. My involvement at Northwoods was growing along with the number of followers and moreover, the offerings.

By now we had long moved beyond the high school auditorium and into a truck stop that had been remodeled for our holy purposes as the church elders began making promises to break ground on a brand new construction project: we were building a permanent location.

The church now had a complete mission statement and a thriving word of mouth marketing campaign working in their favor. The message was simple: “We provide a safe place to investigate the claims of Christ.” The senior pastor had ever emphasized the need to compartmentalize our community. “As we grow larger,” he would say,”we need to become smaller.” Specifically, he was referring to the smaller groups targeted at different demographics. The elderly groups. The youth groups. The singles group. Church activities groups, etc.

Meanwhile some other changes were happening. In growing larger, we had indeed become smaller but not in the way they had intended. As is natural for teenagers, the youth groups had splintered into our own cliques. However, at group activities, we were all able to get along and have fun together, regardless of social barriers. The chord that seemed out of key in our Godly little chorus was the way our adolescent compartmentalization spread beyond our age group–the adults were forming cliques as well.

Being one of the more frequent volunteers, I was privy to overhearing conversations that weren’t intended for my consumption. Two people talking about another member. That member telling his or her friends about what the other person did, and so on. Not only that, but I noticed an air of self-importance surrounding some of the staff. Naturally, after a sermon it seemed that everybody wanted a piece of the speaking pastor’s time. As membership grew, time became more scarce for these well-wishers and adoring fans.

But something else was at play here too. While there was business to attend to in anticipation of the coming groundbreaking ceremony at the new location, things sort of became, well, businesslike. Not only was there jockeying for favor and other positioning amongst staff members–in retrospect, this something which seems rather apparent now that I’m working in an actual corporate environment and observe this sort of thing pretty regularly–but even the small groups and program teams had seemed to be more about productivity than community. If you were important enough, you got the time of day. If not, well, thanks for helping out, be here early tomorrow morning.

It took awhile for the alienation to really set in, since I was mingling with other area youth groups and attending their gatherings to supplement my own church’s events. It was at these events that I became more deeply entrenched in the fundamentalist, conservative Christian lifestyle. Some of these were innocent bonfire gatherings and weenie roasts, occasionally with a band present. Others were more “rooted,” where you got funny stares if you didn’t have your eyes closed and your arms slowly waving in the air during worship sessions. Others detailed the devilry of the world and the fire and brimstone which awaits those who stray from the One True Path™ of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ™.

I’ve seen it all: exorcisms, healings, stories of salvation, revivals. At one event near Chicago, I heard a young woman detailing the story of her birth, and how her delivery had been performed in a Satanic ritual.

“Must’ve been liberals.”

This assumption always seemed to follow a negative perception. You see, in the world of Christian Republicans, the problem with all social ills and perceived immorality is due to the radical mindset of god-hating, anti-family liberals in the Democratic party.

My peers always seemed to agree with my assessment–no further thought was necessary. Further discussion, however, was inevitable. Bill Clinton had been painted as the oppressor of all freedoms and the antithesis to the Constitution which we all held so dear (the irony!). What would begin as a single comment about how the liberal media was attempting to derail justice and was involved in a cover-up to protect the White House (odd since they devoted so much time to the Lewinsky thing) would unfailingly lead to a never-varying discussion on abortion, the environment, atheists, affirmative action, feminism, smaller government, states rights, the military, taxes, prayer in schools, evolution and the breakdown of the American family.

The discussion of each topic never strayed far from a central viewpoint we all shared: the conservative one. One of us would start to “make our point,” which would always be a monologue, and another would pick up right where they left off. Any one of us could have had the entire discussion, verbatim, with ourselves, because each of us knew it so well.

Looking back on it now, I can see the appeal. Making a statement and having everybody in the group around agree with you 100% leaves one with a good feeling. These people respected your ideas. They were interested in what you had to say. Who could resist encouragement like that?

I was discovering another thing as well: politics not only got you recognition, but it was easy. As long as you know your lines, you’re in.

Or so I thought.

Carrying the Torch.

By the beginning of my Junior year in high school, I was already sick of the condescending attitudes of my classmates and tired of the constant show people put on to out-Jesus each other in public, but act like utter hypocrites in private. I spent the rest of my high school career in a public school. I had also mostly stopped going to church, but still kept in touch with a number of old friends. I became more of a casual Christian in practice, but never abandoned the rhetoric, even though I had already lost my virginity, smoked and drank on occasion, smoked weed a few times and cursed with a mastery that rivaled that of my uninitiated peers. At the same time, I was becoming my own person, not giving a flying fuck what anybody thought of me as long as they gave me my space.

My clothing style was, ah, interesting during this time as well. Some days I’d show up in full regalia, complete with baggy pants and a t-shirt featuring an obscure hardcore band. Other times, I’d be dressed in a suit and tie, looking like I was getting ready to meet with a major client behind closed doors and win their business with charm and a brilliant sales pitch.

By the time I was entering college, however, I was a finished product. Business casual dress wherever I went (to this day you’ll rarely find me in anything but a button-down shirt), sometimes more, depending on the event and how pretentious I was feeling that day. My academic career, however, was an utter failure.

I’ve justified it in the past as overambitiousness. Now I see it for how it was: my main problem was that I entered college with something to prove. Coupled with an energetic but horribly undisciplined study method and work ethic, I was doomed from the start.

My academic choice, naturally, was political science with a minor in philosophy. I did well in the classes initially and as the semester went on I got braver and started challenging my instructors. What was bad wasn’t that I was challenging them (something I strongly encourage), but why I was challenging them.

I was enlightened, you see. I listened to right-wing radio on a regular basis. I read the political websites and newspapers. I watched Fox News–the alternative to the bias of the liberal media. Unlike my college peers, I was aware of the intellectual establishment’s contempt for American freedoms. I had come prepared, dear reader, armed with the knowledge that colleges were bastions of liberal indoctrination!

To pad the resume that would eventually carry my ambitions, I joined every student organization I was eligible for, openly identifying myself as a conservative. My first semester of college I became an elected senator of the student government–quite a feat considering some had been running for several semesters and still got no further than “appointed” status. I became the secretary of both the environmental organization and the student philosophy association. Then, of course, there were the Christian groups.

My reasoning was that they’d give me greater credibility and experience. After all this time, here I had become the one jockeying for position, something I had rejected at Northwoods. So it comes full circle.

My “enlightened” status eventually led to my academic demise for a number of semesters after going through several majors, determined to “get it right this time.” It wasn’t until I gave up on politics and switched to computer science that I actually started earning decent grades and not dropping out of classes halfway through the semester.

The bias through which I drew my inspiration and counted as my greatest strength ended up being my undoing. It wasn’t the work or the complexity of the subjects I was studying–it’s that I was resistant to new ideas, convinced that I had it right the first time. I made the mistake of entering a place of learning with a closed mind and suffered the consequences.

I went further than that, too. I was finding it increasingly difficult to defend my views. Before, when I was surrounded with other conservatives and Christians, I never had to worry about backing up my claims with facts or even reasoning (something which I was still pretty adept at for having little or no factual ground or sound logic to back it up with). When I was asked to scratch beneath the surface to defend my arguments, I came up empty-handed… or resisted, or resorted to ad hominem, or changed the subject. I eventually got pissed at the ones who were questioning me instead of listening to their arguments. I, on the other hand, was guilty of saying the same thing over and over, in as many ways as I could think of, as if putting it in a thousand different contexts somehow solidified it.

I would think of this period as the start of my conversion, but it really marked the beginning of a long period of disenchantment. Disillusionment would come later.

Espresso and Discourse.

Sometime in the later phase of my academic crash and burn, I came upon a group of people by complete accident. A friend of mine had invited me to a show for some local bands at a coffee shop in a nearby town. The only other thing I had going at the time was writing a paper on how big government was evil and business and free market were the source of all that is good and right with the world… for the millionth time.

That more or less opened the floodgates to what I would eventually become. I hit it off with the regulars as well as the family that owned the place. It became my second home–during the summer I would spend entire days there, and eventually landed a job. I made a number of persisting friendships with people I previously never would have given the time of day.

They were liberals. My first real, live liberal friends.

Where I would have done well previously in my studies is in listening to what people had to say without carrying my own judgments in the matter. I still have to catch myself at times so as not to slip into old patterns. Unfortunately for me, it took the complete breaking of my spirit to get to the point where I’d actually listen to what others had to say and where I’d challenge myself on matters instead of assuming anyone who disagreed with me was wrong.

In part, I think that merely being around these new people was enough for me to see the error of my ways. As it turned out, these weren’t the hateful radicals I had heard about. They weren’t the moral deviants I was warned would set me on the path to hell, nor were their thoughts and ideas so outlandish that they bordered on satire. Among them were people of multiple religions–or none at all. Each one of them had varying opinions that sometimes overlapped and were agreed upon, but still different enough to be distinguishable from the others. Where they disagreed, they didn’t accuse the other of being a Nazi or a Commie, or any of the labels my conservative ilk and I had applied to people like them.

“My God!” I realized,”they’re actually people!”

That was the defining moment for me: opening my mind. I was hearing the other side of the story for the first time. Here were the missing pieces of the puzzle. Here’s why my arguments failed. Right here in front of me were all the things I had never considered, laid bare and without malice… but it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine.

To this day, I can’t quite come up with a suitable comparison to having your beliefs shattered in wave after wave of disillusionment and realization. I can’t honestly blame them for what happened nor what followed. The catalyst for this transformation wasn’t in what they said, but that it had caused me to think.

I can see why the extreme right wants to stoke our fears and keep us apart.

What followed can only be described as hitting bottom. In thinking of my views on the economy, I found flaws in capitalism and the dangers and corruption inherent in free markets. By reexamining my views on affirmative action, it dawned on me that while the policy may have become mostly obsolete, out of desperation it may have been necessary when it was introduced. When exploring what I previously held to be Truth in my faith, I paid attention to the contradictions, the inconsistencies, the history and the science; but more so, it gave me a chance to objectively evaluate the negative social impact of the religious right and how well their politics matched their values. I looked at the science behind evolution. I looked at the debunkery of creationism. I weighed the costs and benefits of smaller government versus the ever-increasing powers of the corporate elite and their endless army of lobbyists.

After 9/11 occurred my sense of belligerent nationalism was inflamed along with everyone else’s.. only, it didn’t last. At least, not like it would have a year earlier. In the midst of my disillusionment, I became apathetic. Sure, I wanted there to be payback for the attacks. I wanted there to be WMD’s in Iraq. But I didn’t care if there weren’t. Even if there were, so what? I had been lied to for years and fell for it. I was a complete sucker and I knew it.

Depression set in for a considerable amount of time. I had quit school and was working in the downtown bar scene for about two years. I began to drink and lose ambition. It’s not like it wasn’t readily available. On most nights after work, we’d stay up and drink from 4:30 am until almost noon. I’m not saying that being a conservative will turn you into an alcoholic, my indulgence was more a result of apathy, convenience and acceptability. However, my conservative background left me with a cynicism towards minorities, so I didn’t have much of a problem enforcing a blatantly racist dress code in the bars I worked at (something which increasingly led to my radicalization against racism in any form). It wasn’t overt, I just didn’t give a shit.

It wasn’t until after an attempted suicide at the depth of my depression that I finally came around and started getting my shit together. There wasn’t a magical transformation nor a melodramatic conversion. I was too old for this shit. Sure, I hadn’t lost anyone especially close to me, but I had lost my ambition. Politics and my faith were everything to me and now they seemed so… meaningless. The friends who had opened my eyes to the world had moved across the country and took my non-downtown social life with them, I was jobless and penniless and was basically living off of my girlfriend for an unreasonable amount of time. My old Christian friends were busy with their own lives and spread across the country, but at that point I didn’t really want to talk to them, either.

Back to the Future.

I had taken a couple of night classes during my time at the bar and earned a PC repair certification. I decided to enterprise a bit and get back into the swing of things, bringing myself up to date on web design standards, teaching myself a bit of networking, programming and graphical design, once again drawing on my old strengths that I’d mostly forgotten about. I landed a few IT jobs and started making a livable wage.

Although, sometime in late 2004 I started gaining interest in these old subjects once again. I began reading again and paying attention to the news. I explored a number of political topics and boned up on what was going on in the world. I cracked open some old philosophy books and regained a sense of my old ambitions.

While I still had no desire to become involved it again, I never gave myself an excuse to stop learning about it. It would be a hobby, I thought. Like gardening. My intentions were to get a degree in computer science or perhaps a Cisco certification and make my living that way.

In the meantime, as my knowledge expanded, so did my political views advance. If I found out I was wrong about something, I’d find out why I was wrong and adjust my thoughts accordingly. Once again, I became a lover of knowledge, but this time without the preconceptions and biases that had previously held me back. If someone had done something commendable, I’d recognize it whether I agreed with their policies or not. If someone did something shady, I’d write them off as a scumbag–but never without the chance to redeem themselves. People change. I did.

The past few years have been somewhat of a blur, having come out of a failing relationship of nearly two years to becoming a husband and a father in a relatively short amount of time. I also landed a professional position as an IT analyst at a local company. Things were going great for awhile until… I got political again.

I can’t say that I wasn’t already political before the shit hit the fan, but I had no intention of changing course until I realized something: I have positively no interest in an IT career. Part of it had to do with general corporate behavior (a moot point for my job–the company I work for is quite clean and respectable in that regard) and office politics, which harken back to my days on the inside of Northwoods Community Church. More than anything, I was less than impressed with the the proverbial pissing contest between the technically inclined. I lived among fundamentalists and the wingnut fringe, guys, I recognize shallow self-importance when I see it.

I had intended to go back to school for the spring semester of 2008, but ended up moving to a new house with my family to be able to afford the cost of childcare, and paying for two rents until the lease at our old apartment expired didn’t give us an inch of wiggle room for budgeting this kind of thing. That, and FAFSA is slower than hell.

However, I am now currently enrolled full time for the fall semester. Fortunately, due to the lapse between the last time I was attended college and the present, I’m also eligible to get the shitty grades erased by retaking the classes and passing a few others. Overall I’m pretty confident that things will be different this time. First off, my work ethic is far better than it was when I was 18, and now much more is at stake: 1) getting out of an industry I have no desire to stay in; 2) realizing that ambitious potential that has kept me awake at night; and most importantly 3) providing a higher quality of life for myself and my family.

And, now that I think about it, 4) opening a few minds in the process. It’s not for everybody, but looking back on it now, I wouldn’t change a thing… except, maybe, choosing to enroll in a Christian school and being suckered into a narrow ideology that has wasted years of my life. I still have no desire whatsoever to serve in any kind of government position.

The Circus is Still in Town.

So what is it like over there?

Well, I imagine that most of them have a very limited social circle where they’ve managed to, either by accident or intent, filter the *types* of people they interact with. If you look at the paragraph that begins with “My peers always seemed to agree with my assessment,” you can see how such a scenario might play out. Even when exposed to differing viewpoints, there’s still a social safety net to catch you and reconfirm your views. A stroke of the ego is the cure for any kind of self-doubt. Of course, by the time I had begun to mingle with the coffee shop crowd, I no longer had the safety net to conveniently catch me.

Since switching sides, one thing I’ve found in common among most self-styled conservatives is the condescending attitudes they display towards those they’re “debating” with. That’s another thing. They love to use the word “debate” to describe a one-way lecture.

For instance, in the “I was enlightened” paragraph, you can see where some of the attitude may come from. At the time I had considered myself extremely well-informed. The hosts and reporters and authors of my sources of information talked about how we were getting the real story, unbiased and spin-free. We were told we’re among the informed insiders.

Who doesn’t want to believe that? Looking back on it, it really is an ingenious marketing strategy. Appeal to people’s narcissism by telling them they’re the ones with knowledge or that they’re the ones who aren’t being duped. Tell them they’re the true patriots. Kiss their asses until their underwear chafes. When marketing to the petty side of human nature, a flattering lie will take you a lot farther than an ugly truth.

Another common reaction to opposing viewpoints that I both participated and regularly witnessed occurs the way I described in “The bias through which” paragraph and the following one. There was a clear resistance to anything that differed to what we thought or thought we knew. For instance, the initial reaction among many conservatives during the Elian Gonzales fiasco was to deport the kid back to the commies. Considering the blatant anti-immigrant policies and attitudes common among conservatives and the “open arms” policy we felt the left had displayed, it was a surprise to some of us when the Janet Reno Justice Department agreed. Then the punditry came in and took the other side leaving many of us confused. But like good soldiers we followed suit. Janet Reno was part of the Clinton administration, and the Clinton administration was the enemy of truth and freedom. As a group, we weren’t exactly hard to manipulate.

I still see the fickle phenomena of the conservative right when Limbaugh listeners try making the claim that their intentions with “Operation Chaos” were indeed to prolong the Democratic nomination process, not to get Clinton nominated since they felt she’d be a figure to rally against in the general election and, subsequently, easier to defeat. While it took me awhile to become “liberal,” it didn’t take long at all to recognize the flock mentality of the Limbaugh crowd and to distance myself from it to appear as though I had reached my conclusions independently. Even today there’s no shortage of Limbaugh clones blatantly plagiarizing the man but saying things like “I don’t agree with him all the time,” or “I don’t listen to him.”

Facts are another thing many conservatives still seem to have problems with. As long as a politician ran on a conservative ticket, we never bothered with him again unless a scandal broke–which we responded to by changing the subject and using gotcha phrases to silence the opposition. As conservatives, we never ever argued based on merits. Instead we started with a set of assumed absolutes, then built our arguments from there. It never seemed to occur to us that there may have been problems in what we assumed was settled. Anyone who reads my blog and is familiar with the person known as “Vonster” ought to be familiar with these methods.

When I call out the wingnut fringe on their trademark bullshit, it’s not because I want to silence the opposition or am being closed-minded to their perceptions. The fact of the matter is, I’ve been on the other side. I know all their tricks, all their lines and all their games. I’ve seen the flock mentality and the blubbering fervor that stokes their fires. I understand that they don’t see ignorance as a weakness. I’ve experienced first-hand the process by which this group comes to its conclusions and how they become confident in them. I was on the inside.

I do my best to hear someone out even after they carry on with these intellectually bankrupt tactics, but only up to a point. When I’m dismissive of an argument, it’s not that I’m filtering the person out. Chances are high that I’ve heard it before or said it before when I was on their side of the line years ago. Unfortunately for the person in question and their children for generations to come, they think that because nobody is interested in hearing their thoughtless bullshit, it means they won the “debate.” There’s that word again. Maybe they think it makes them sound smarter, I don’t know.

Conclusion.

What information caused me to turn? Everything and nothing. There simply was no one revelation that set me down the path. The pivotal moment was when I decided to listen. That’s really all it took. I’m not embellishing or romanticizing it at all; it was difficult, but I was weary. What followed was even more difficult, made me forget who I was and left me wondering whether there was anything I was ever supposed to do.

What happened led to my ability to empathize and recognize a bit more clearly the struggle and complexity that is the human condition. Did I become a “better person” as a result of everything? Maybe. Who can say? But it did give me a desire to do good by my fellow man and try to make the world a better place. That should count for something, right?

I’m not even sure why I bothered to spend all this time writing about it. I doubt my “unique insight” will help at all. After all the people I’ve dealt with on the right, I find it hard not to believe there’s truth in the idea that it might actually take an odyssey like mine to achieve the same realizations. That’s a nice way of saying “you can’t reason with these people.” What they call “news” involves two people yelling at each other, where the one yelling the loudest is usually the host of the show and thereby the winner. Maybe I lack the vision necessary to see how this will help influence people, but good luck to those who try.

Peoria is a cosmic, gravitational nexus of incompetence on the road.

This morning on my way to work, I was following my usual route making good time. In accordance with Murphy’s law, I ended up behind two semis. The one in front of me was carrying a tractor and two, big-ass tires on a flatbed. For the speed he was going, he definitely should have been in the right-hand lane instead of pacing along blocking traffic. The second was carrying something else, don’t remember what, but was considerably smaller. He was in the right-hand lane.

We’re cruising down I-74 Westbound coming up on the Pinecrest Drive exit. I’m muttering curses under my breath over having to be stuck behind this dumbass when all of a sudden… BOOM! The next thing I know, I’m dodging all kinds of shit flying through the air and bouncing off the road spraying my car with shattered debris. The sonofabitch truck I was just grumbling about apparently mis-measured his load and hit the overpass. *slaps forehead*

So I’m braking and swerving, and about a half a mile up the road we all pull over. I stay in my car to call into work to tell them what happened and let them know I’ll be late. The guy in the smaller truck was in front of me, and in front of him, Mr. Dumbass was inspecting his cargo. To hell with the rest of us, he had to verify his stupidity (or, to be fair, the stupidity of whoever told him his load met regulations.

The guy in the smaller truck went to make sure he had a cell phone to call it in. Instead, he says he’s going to take off. Smaller-Truck relayed this to me (as I had finally emerged from my car at this point) after asking if I was alright. Dumbass leaves. Small leaves.

With an inflamed sense of “fuck that” I get into my car and merge back into traffic once I get an opening. I call the police, give them my work number and a description of the truck and the location of the incident. “Did you get the license plate number?” No. I was too busy dodging pieces of farm equipment. “Did you get the color?” No, I was behind it, dodging pieces of FARM EQUIPMENT. Really though, the dispatchers were helpful and to-the-point, so I’ve got no complaints with them. My chagrin is directed at Mr. D.

After talking with the police, I resume my normal route to work. The light at the next intersection turns yellow. Again, according to Murphy’s Law, I’m nowhere near close enough to make it, so I put on my brakes. Then, according to Peoria’s Law, the bastard riding my ass (I’m no slow driver, by the way) slams on his brakes, damn near rear-ends me, pulls around me to the right–into a turn lane–then proceeds to run the red light I was stopped at. What are the freakin’ odds?

I haven’t had a chance to survey whatever damage the car might have incurred in today’s roadway shitfest, but I’m planning on looking it over once I get a smoke break. Good thing my insurance is paid.

I, _____________________ do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend and bear true faith and allegiance to the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution to the State of Illinois, and the territory, institutions and facilities thereof, both public and private, against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties upon which I am about to enter. And I do further swear (or affirm) that I do not advocate, nor am I, nor have I been a member of any political party or organization that advocates the overthrow of the government of the United States or of this State by force or violence, and that during such time as I am affiliated with the (organization redacted), I will not advocate nor become a member of any political party or organization that advocates the overthrow of the government of the United States or of this State by force or violence.

Signature: _______________________
Witness: _______________________

—

I read the oath again and again, feeling out my thoughts and conscience for an answer. The training session was almost over and volunteers were lining up to collect the forms.

“..didn’t see that one coming,” I thought to myself as the man at the front of the room made his closing statements. There’s something peculiar about a civilian volunteer force having to take an oath such as this before being allowed to sign up. I say the pledge of allegiance, isn’t that enough?

No, that wasn’t it. At that point I was only kidding myself–I knew the reason why I was confused, but didn’t want to face the reality of it: it was an oath I couldn’t take. I couldn’t bring myself to sign it. I just couldn’t figure out why.

I folded the application between the pages of my training manual and shuffled towards the door.

—

“Did you forget to turn in your form?” On the way home, my wife had been flipping through the manual with casual interest and discovered my dirty little secret.

“Oh, that. Yeah, I think I need some more time to think it over.” Not a lie, just a way of postponing it. Both my wife and my in-laws are involved and want me to join. They were happy enough that I showed interest in the training course tonight, but I suspect they might hope for just a little bit more. The advanced class next, perhaps, then full-fledged membership. It’s not that they’re pressing it, or even thinking about it for that matter, just that the subject is bound to come up at some point.

“Why didn’t you join?” they’d eventually ask. I didn’t have an answer I thought they’d understand.

What was so hard about signing the dotted line, anyway? Why not just fork it over? No conflict, no guilt, no conundrum. Any possible family expectation concerning the matter would be satisfied, I’d have a volunteer service to list on my resume and, hey, it could be lots of fun. Besides, I’m sure this is one of those standard, required forms that gets filed with all the rest.

Still, something didn’t feel right about signing it.

I read over the oath page again, looking over each section. Defend the U.S. Constitution. Check. I do that every chance I get. Defend the State Constitution. Sure. It could use a little tweaking given the traditionally corrupt state of politics in Illinois, but hey. Defend it against all enemies foreign and domestic. You betcha. No mental reservations. Check.

“And I do further swear,” I continued to read aloud,”that I do not advocate, nor am I, nor have I been a member of any political party or organization that advocates the overthrow of the government of the United States or this State by force or violence.”

Bingo. No mental reservations: uncheck.

“I will not advocate nor become a member of any political party or organization that advocates…” I was getting the picture.

Insert thought bubble here.

It’s not as if I was in favor of overthrowing the government, nor was I harboring any fantasies that I could if I tried. On the contrary, I’ve been actively working to change the government and make the country a better place for all. Sure, we have an imperfect system, but is it truly beyond repair? Why was this so hard for me?

Imagine a light-bulb appearing over my head as I sat, searching for reasons why I would ever find myself in a situation where I was trying to overthrow the government by force. Two words made their way into my mind, and when they did they brought with them a mingled sense of curiosity and fear: “What if?”

What if the government’s spiraling trend towards some sort of nightmare police state continued? What if it were amplified and accelerated by some unforeseen event? What if organizations who opposed it became outlawed and oppressed? These were all symptoms of a much more basic question:

What if defending the Constitution meant overthrowing the government by force?

It asks to defend against all enemies “foreign and domestic.” Hey, even with the current trend in fascist policies and secretive decision-making, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility, though it won’t get to that point for a long time. Suppose, however, that we have another 9/11 type of event. And another.

Just like last time, we’d huddle together out of fear, screaming for the blood of the perpetrators while condemning the government for failing to protect us. “There should have been some way to stop this,” we’ll claim,”you didn’t do enough to keep it from happening!”

Again, we’ll willingly surrender more and more of our rights in exchange for feeling safe again. The Right Wing will boast of how they knew, all along, that this would happen if the Liberals were in power.

Forget that terrorism is, by its very nature, random and unpredictable. Nobody expects someone to walk into a football stadium and blow themselves up, taking with them as many people as they can. We’re also stumped for ideas of how to prevent such a tragedy, yet we knowingly turn a blind eye to the kinds of policies that have pushed people to such depths of desperation.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” I knew the answer before I asked the question.

What would it be like if I were on the receiving end of this oppression? I tried to imagine myself getting to the point where I was desperate enough for change that I’d be willing to do anything to get it.

It forced me to visit the darkest depths of my mind as I imagined my family being taken away from me, never to be heard from again. I thought of being held in a dirty cell for months at a time, being beaten and shocked, starved and mocked daily for some of the things I’ve said on this very blog.

I imagine losing my dignity to those who were incapable of giving a fuck about you or your problems. They’re the patriots, right? You’re just some luckless shit that happened to be in their path.

Would regaining my Constitutional rights to be protected from this kind of situation be worth such a fight? Would it be worth dying for? I think it would.

The government would brand me a terrorist while claiming to uphold American values and vowing to protect them from the likes of me. People like me, who only want their lives back. People like me, who speak out and are labeled traitors by their jingoist countrymen.

Who am I kidding? This is already happening.

Even now, the imperialists and the fascists within our own government are working day and night to ensure that power is centralized in a way that could make all of this possible. While they’re doing it, they turn on the charm and smile before the cameras while selling us on the same old insipid lines: “We’ll protect the values of this great nation.” “We’re behind the average Joe.” “We want everyone to live the American Dream.” “It’s time to get tough on crime.” “We’re the freest, greatest nation on earth.”

We ritually misquote the founding fathers for political gain. We insult your intelligence. We lie.

These days, the domestic threats are more of a danger than foreign ones.

Even so, I pondered, could I ever imagine myself walking into a subway and pressing a button that I know will result in the death of every man, woman and child on that train? I’d like to think I’d have the sense to target those responsible rather than people whose death will only fuel their rhetoric. I haven’t experienced anything as painful as what has led so many people to believe this is the only way. Maybe after a certain point, desperation turns into apathy. I don’t know. However, I’m certain that if it ever did get to that point, it wouldn’t be about change; it would be about revenge.

“No,” I thought to myself,”I’d never get to that point.” I’m satisfied enough with my own answer, though I hope never to experience the kind of oppression that would lead me there. Yet still, I found it harder than ever to take such an oath upon myself.

It sits in front of me as I type this, causing me to wonder how a pile of words could get me so worked up. Why not just sign it and forget about it. I’m probably just reading into it too much. Jeez, it’s not like I’m signing over my soul. On the other hand…

No, I don’t think I will sign it, because if push comes to shove, I’ll have to make a choice between being a good German and doing what I’m told, or standing up for what I believe in regardless of the cost. I’m sticking with my principles on this one.

Thank you for reading.

That’s the sound my mind makes whenever my right hand hits the keyboard. Ladies and Gentlemen, I went roller skating last night.

I was with my best friend. He has a guest from Japan staying at his house and was out of ideas for how to entertain her in pre-spring Illinois. I, in my naive fondness of memory, suggested rollerskating. What my mind and body had apparently forgotten was that I hadn’t been rollerskating for the better part of a decade. For those of you who find yourself in a similar situation, here’s a tip sheet:

• Dress light. Rollerskating can be quite a workout!
• When choosing a pair of skates (or if you’re one of those “hip” people, blades), be sure to find a pair that fits snugly. You can’t trust your shoe size on this one. I normally wear a size 12, but after some trial-and-error had to switch to a size 11. The skates should be snug, and if you have a spouse or partner who is willing to trade foot rubs with you once the night winds down, all the better!
• Lace the skates as tight as you can! Make sure to pay attention to all the holes and notches for the laces to go through. If you find the laces are too big even after a double-knot, wrap them around the back of your skates then tie them in the front. The last thing you want, as I painfully discovered, is to have a rogue lace slip under a wheel. The main benefit of having your laces tied tight is not falling on your ass and getting run over by six junior-high kids. Also helps with ankle support/steadiness.
• Another thing, while it’s fresh on my mind, is to watch your language. If you curse a lot like I do, you may want to bite your tongue. Skating is a family-oriented activity. Tempted though you’ll be, do your best not to yell out “OH SHIIIIT” as you go flying into a cinder-block wall.
• Skate brakes are tricky. Because you must have the balance and coordination to tilt one foot forward (or, for roller blades, backward) to slow yourself to a stop, this may be a problem for some people. The trick is to make the brakes touch the floor lightly enough to make you gently slow down. What this means for the rest of us who don’t have a good sense of balance and coordination is that tilting your foot forward to make brake-contact with the floor usually ends up in a skidding, spinning, flailing descent to making full-body contact with the floor. I recommend flying into a cinder-block wall to stop yourself. It’s less painful and far less embarrassing.
• Balance is the key to proper skating. If there’s a concessions stand nearby, don’t go near it! There’s bound to be some sort of slick or sticky fluid spilled in the vicinity. Your flawless sense of balance doesn’t mean shit when your wheels don’t stick to the floor. If you’ve gained a belly between now and the last time you took to the rink, you’ll have to lean forward farther, which isn’t so good for people with back problems.  And, by George, bend those knees!. A girdle is recommended.
• Proper technique is paramount! When skating, do not attempt to walk on your skates. This doesn’t work. Instead, you should employ a sort of sliding motion, back and forth. If you’ve got bad hips, maybe you should hit the arcade instead.
• When falling, the best method I’ve found is to try to lower a knee in a sort of “marriage proposal” position, then slide to a halt, or a cinder-block wall. The success rate of this method depends entirely on your sense of balance–I only got it to work once. If you’re like me, falling flat on your back, sliding on your stomach, or landing in a “limbs-askew” position is the more likely course of action.
• Another important thing about falling is this: when falling on your ass is imminent, do NOT grab hold of your best friend’s hoodie in a desperate attempt to balance yourself. You will both fall and be run over by six junior high kids.
• If someone falls directly in front of you, I can tell you from experience that it is not in your best interest to attempt to lift one leg up to avoid running it into the fallen. You are going down; just let it happen.
• Do your best to hold your course and don’t be intimidated by people skating around everyone like a drunk driver weaving in and out of traffic. Chances are, they’ve had more practice than you and are thus unlikely to cause an accident.
• Finally, as an exception to the previous tip, when someone cuts you off on their way to the rink’s exit, thereby causing imminent ass-landings, it is against proper etiquette to try taking them down with you, but highly recommended anyway.

I hope this helps, and good luck out there!

Originally Posted on January 18th, 2008:

 

Are they just now realizing this?

 

My wife thinks clowns are cute. Most of them anyway. She’s the only person I’ve spoke with on the subject that doesn’t find clowns positively fucking terrifying.

Once upon a time, when I was a young lad, my mother was taking classes and working a third shift job. Because of her odd hours, my brother and I were required to stay with a babysitter overnight. We hated it, but we had no other choice.

We shared a bedroom at this babysitter’s house. Looking back on it now, I’m positive that it was a doorway to the void, much like the house in Poltergeist.

Clowns everywhere. In every corner of the room, there were clowns. Clown wallpaper, clown rug, clown sheets, clown pillowcases, clown pictures, clown lampshades, clown figurines, clown lights and worst of all, one of those dolls with the red and white striped arms–really long arms–that you see strangling people in creepy 80’s horror b-movies. Oh, there was also a jack-in-the-box, which I rightfully expected to jump out and eat me as soon as I fell asleep.

Fortunately, it didn’t. I’m still here, scarred for life.

But for most of my life, this “bozophobia” has been common amongst my peers. This has persisted through the years right down to the generation of kids who were studied. What really ought to be studied is why this is suddenly news to people.

Originally Posted on January 10th, 2008:

Driving like an idiot: it plays in Peoria.

I’m a commuter. I don’t live in Peoria proper, or even the Peoria area. Up until a few months ago, I had lived there all my life. However, I still work in the city which means a lengthy drive in the morning and another in the evening.

Being a lifelong Peorian, I’m more than familiar with the bad driving that plagues the area; from those who attempt to change lanes in a space you’re currently occupying, to those who pace each other across four lanes at 40 mph on the highway. I know you coast through stop signs, Peoria. You forget to turn off your brights on busy streets, wait almost until the light turns yellow before pressing on the gas at an intersection and religiously cut people off. Every time you turn or change lanes without using a turn signal, I notice and mutter profanities under my breath.

Even worse, O Peoria drivers, is when you look shocked and dismayed that I’ve honked my horn to alert you that you’re about to plow into me. It never fails to amaze me when you back out of a side-street onto a 40 mph road with oncoming traffic, then thank my life-saving quick reflexes with a grateful middle finger.

The town I’ve moved to has another problem entirely: slow drivers. Slow on the main roads at least. They tend to floor it once they get to my street. That aside, I’ve noticed that most bad driving I’ve come across seems to correlate with my proximity to good ol’ P-town. It never fails. The closer I get, the worse driving becomes. Much of it is dumb stuff, such as hogging the left lane while pacing with a Semi, or gabbing on your phone and generally being a nuisance. It’s not just the congestion either–that’s just a reason for slow drivers to make the rest of us suffer.

Even the police are a part of the act. I remember traffic coming to an abrupt halt, the jerkass behind me almost plowing into me at full speed before going off the side of the road and driving on the shoulder so he could get in front of the truck that was in front of me (all while talking on his cell phone). Honks were exchanged. Hands waved frantically. And this is what I saw. One can only wonder why a cop would be parked, on a curve, right in the middle of the 155/74 interchange, lights flashing, taking his sweet time sitting there doing… nothing at all. Nevermind the near pileup of vehicles. Forget that traffic was crawling by at 4 mph. He had some intimidating to do.

Part of me wonders whether or not these people are actually to blame. I ponder whetherPeoria is just some sort of cosmic gravitational nexus of incompetence and it’s energies of absent-minded stupidity flows through all who dare to enter. Sure couldn’t tell by reading the news.