Esoteric Musings

TAILSPIN

2011-08-02T13:15:00.001-04:00

I am crazy.
I am delusional.
I am always wrong.
I have perceptions that have no validity.
I am the source of all my children’s problems.
I am a danger to myself and to those around me.
I am going to loose my children.
I have lost my house.
I am 42 and a looser.
I am pussy whipped.
I get what I deserve.
I am a coward.
I hate myself.
I want to die.
I am tired.

cdl
08022011

catharsis

2010-06-29T13:04:00.004-04:00

I'm in a train station. It's large with a ceiling so high I almost can’t see it. It’s all tans and browns with an art deco feel. The main terminal is filled with people, so many that they press in against me. I don’t want them to. I’m going somewhere but I can’t remember where or why. I’m jostled and shoved by the press of people all hurrying to their destinations. Everyone is moving except for me. I’m standing still in the middle of the terminal. Lost.

Spinning around I search desperately for an exit, for the direction that will lead me to my destination. All around me are tunnels leading down to the platforms. They're dark. I can’t penetrate the darkness. Can’t see where they lead.

I choose one at random. Hurrying toward it I bump into an Indian man with a blue turban. He smells of curry and sour sweat. I apologize but he doesn’t hear me. I grab at his arm but he pulls away with out looking at me. After what seems like hours I reach one of the tunnels and see stairs descending into darkness. I'm afraid. Paralyzed. Forcefully the crowd pushes me forward. Turning I try to fight my way back up the stairs but it is no use. They're to powerful. I'm overwhelmed by the crowd and swept down the stairs.

Pushed to the bottom I find myself in the middle of the terminal again. I'm confused. This is where I started. Choosing a different tunnel I run toward it. I push people down shoving them out of the way but they don’t notice. Down the stairs I race taking them two at a time and find myself back in the middle of the terminal.

Grabbing a woman with long curly black hair I ask for directions, “where am I supposed to go?” She stares through me not hearing, then pulls from my grasp hurrying to where ever she was going. I ask another person. And another. And another. They don’t hear me. I panic and start to run toward another tunnel. I'm pushing people down. Shoving them out of the way. Trampling them in my attempt to find the train. Down the tunnel and back into the middle of the terminal.

Screams fill the air and I realize that it's me. No one notices. The crowd passes me by and I drop to my knees pulling at my hair. Throwing back my head I look to the ceiling screaming. Screaming. My throat is on fire and pain fills my head but still I scream. The people hurry by. Closing my eyes I don’t want to see them. I squeeze them shut until it hurts and my head is filled with a blinding white light.

Someone says “Ticket Please.”

Opening my eyes I blink rapidly until my vision is clear. There's a conductor standing before me. He's old and kindly looking with many winkles tracing a map across his face. I stare at those wrinkles and for an instant I think I see where to go. Directions to my destination hidden in the wrinkles of his face just out of vision.

He says “ticket please,” once more.

Searching my pockets I can’t find a ticket. “I don’t have one, please tell me where to go” I plead. Clutching at his arm, begging him with my eyes while trying to see the secrets hidden in his face. I can’t find them. I don’t have the ability. He smiles kindly and pulls away moving into he crowd and is lost from sight. I hear him asking people for tickets. They all have tickets. They all have a destination. Direction.

On my knees I'm screaming again. No one hears. I can’t escape the train station. Trapped in a prison of my own inadequacy.

I'm screaming.

The crowd passes by.

No one hears.

cdl
June 29, 2010

In the Quiet Hours

2008-09-20T19:00:00.000-04:00

Do you ever wonder in the quiet hours about your existence? Whether are not you have been a bane or a boon to life in general? Sometimes I do. In those quiet hours at night when I am alone, those quiet hours that I simultaneously dread and long for. I am an atheist so I often wonder what motivates me. There is no god in my world who will judge me, no eternal reward or punishment. I have no desirer for any lasting legacy for when I am dead and gone, retuned to the universe in the most elemental of ways, what then would I care for what people will think of me. To tell the truth I have little care for others opinions now. What is my motivation for choosing good over evil or as my friend might say heroism over villainy? In those quiet hours I sit by myself going over the mental balance sheet of my life and realize that at 40 years of age I am half way through life and have accomplished nothing of any significant value. There is no great invention for the benefit of humanity. No work of prose showering enlightenment on the unenlightened. Does this mean I don’t value what have? Do I value these lofty endeavors more than what I have? How did I get here to this point? I have to come to the conclusion that while I have not been rudderless in my voyage, neither have I had direction. I have proceeded willy nilly to the point I am now at. Now don’t think that I am unhappy or unsatisfied, rather I guess I am just wondering if I could have been something more, something different. Would I have been more fulfilled choosing a steady course as either hero or villain rather then meandering back and forth between the two? I guess I am at that point in my life where I am feeling my own mortality and wondering what the purpose is. I have lived a simple life of carpe diem, climb the hill because it is there, enjoy the satisfaction of accomplishment at the top, enjoy the view, and discard these things and move on to the next hill. From hill to hill with no other purpose save to see what lies at the top of the next hill, driven by curiosity. I have to wonder though if Robert Service was talking about me, I have lived life by half?

cdl

The Men That Don't Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.

R. Service

Darkness (Part I)

2008-05-22T14:01:00.006-04:00

I was afraid of the dark through out my childhood and well into my adolescence. Never was I afraid of many things but this one made up for the lack of fear in other areas I suppose. My fear was not the kind of fear that I imagine most people deal with. Not a slight adrenalin rush and the nervous alertness that comes with it, not something easily dispelled with a quick monster check and comforting hug from Mom. Darkness for me took on a menacing singular presence; it became an entity, a personification of the blacker places that exist in our imagination. Take the all the evil, malice and hatred that exists in the world, pour it into a formless being that at once is everywhere and nowhere and you will be close to what the dark was for me. Craven and King have nothing on the demon that stalked my youth.

I battled with this nameless being during all of my childhood. I doubt if many who are close to me even know of the abject terror this fiend filled me with. That terror did not manifest itself with tears, screaming or frightened calls for parents. It was a paralyzing fear for me, one that left me rooted to where ever I happened to be. Trapped and alone, unable to move or react, leaving self doubt and visions on my own demise to gnaw at me like graveyard rats chewing the bones of the dammed. For years this was my transition from wakefulness to sleep, laying stiff and still in a bed that had become a coffin, waiting for oblivion to take me and bring some small measure of peace. Each time knowing somewhere inside, that this time would be the last. Once I let my guard down, Darkness would take me.

As I got older I came up with tricks to keep Darkness at bay. Ways to stand vigil until the return of the light or exhaustion take me. A flashlight became my sword and a book my shield, armor against the night. This tactic in my silent war inadvertently served a function I did not realize; it fed my intellect, that rational side of me that is rooted in logic and reason. I built a wall of reason to protect me against Darkness until such time that I could vanquish him completely. Slowly, I became more secure. There were no ghosts, no goblins or demons, no presence lurking in the night waiting for an opportunity to strike. Over time that presence diminished and became a small nagging thing only occasionally rising up to confront me. He was still there but not so intimidating now; I knew a final confrontation was coming yet and beneath the rational armor was the thought Darkness might somehow win. It was the chink in my armor; the tiny flaw that could be my undoing. I wanted to be rid of this foe once and for all but I feared the confrontation.
Scout camp was to ultimately be the setting for this battle. I started going to Camp Tapico when I was eleven. Over the next three years Darkness would take that opportunity to strengthen his position. He spread his form though out the woods of northern Michigan. Kalkaska County became his lair for one week a summer. He worked hard to claim me there in our silent battle, but I had grown stronger too. I was armed with knowledge of the woods and those creatures that dwelled there. I became familiar with their habits and habitats least they join the forces of Darkness. With my reason before me, I came to know the trails, woods and animals that were contained within so that if had to venture forth at night I would know them for whom and what they were. When I did have to venture forth at night, I worked hard to stay with groups of my peers. Darkness was always reluctant to reveal himself in front of others; I could feel him in the distance though, watching and waiting.

Patience paid off for Darkness my fourth summer there; I was fourteen and it 1985. My first three summers at camp my scout troop had always camped at Deer Run-the camp site closest to the administration end of camp and most centrally located to the various activities camp had to offer. In the winter of 1985, our troop had become more like the boy run organization it was supposed to be and we boys had decided we wanted a more challenging site for summer camp. We chose Beaver Point. Where Deer Run was on the south east side of Grass Lake, Beaver Point was on the west side. It was the closest of three isolated sites. You could not get vehicles in there as part way in was a narrow causeway crossing a swampy portion of the lake. Consequently, all troop equipment would have to be packed in and daily commissary runs would be done by canoe. It was perfect for the needs of a troop that had grown in experience.

Now camping is not the only thing a scout does at summer camp, it is also a place to learn some skills. Hiking, boating, archery, rife and shoot guns, and swimming are among the popular activities that you can learn or better your skills at, possibly earning a merit badge along the way. One of the less popular interests is Astronomy. Now, astronomy is something that has always intrigued me and I signed up for it at the nature center right away the Sunday afternoon we arrived at camp. I did not think about the ramifications of this fateful decision at the time. It was warm and sunny on the parade grounds outside the nature center and without hesitation I signed my name under several others on the clipboard. Astronomy would meet that night after opening campfire at 10:30 pm. Getting there was no problem as my troop had to walk past the parade ground to reach the trail head that lead to Beaver Point. As we left the campfire that night, we walked as a group back toward our campground and upon approaching the parade grounds I saw the small cluster of boys and one counselor standing in the middle with some equipment. I told Mr. B, our Scoutmaster, that I would be back later as I had Astronomy merit badge to work on. He nodded acquiescence and continued back with the rest of our troop while I peeled off and headed over to the knot of youths on the parade grounds.

Astronomy went well and star gazing is an activity I still enjoy today. My problem began when the lesson ended and we started to break up to head back to our troop sites. Of the fifteen or so camp sites that were at Tapico, only three were located on the west side of the lake. All of the others were on the east side of the lake. With the majority of the campgrounds on the east side, that meant the majority of the campers would be on the east side of the lake. The minority of the campers would then be on the west side; my side of the lake. As we packed up our stuff, I was coming to the realization that the fickle finger of fate had determined me to be a minority of one. Even the counselor was going in a different direction. I slipped on my knapsack and looked toward the opening in the distant tree line that marked the opening to the trail head for the western sites. Now I could have asked the counselor to walk with me and I’m sure he would but I became a victim of my own hubris. I was a Patrol Leader, I was respected, and I would not be labeled a coward. I began walking toward the opening in the woods, a dark hole in the tree line. An owl hooted and a slight breeze made the trees whisper like the voices of the damned. I could smell the sick sweet scent of rot and decay that came from the swamp back further in the woods. It was the smell of death. With each step I took toward that black hole in the tree line, my heart grew heavier. I was filled with a cold foreboding, every fiber of my being screamed to get away, to run anywhere and nowhere. I stopped about ten feet from the opening to the woods. I was paralyzed with fear and indecision. I was helpless and I could feel him in there waiting for me, mocking me with his silent laughter. I stood alone in the night and Darkness waited.

(To be continued)
cdl

Mood Indigo

2008-05-10T19:00:00.005-04:00

Softly the silky smooth voice of Billie Holiday slinks across the room to me while a large stuffed fish rotates lazily overhead. Her voice contrasts starkly with fish, the rendition of Duke Ellington’s “Prelude to a Kiss” is somber, quiet and melancholy while the fish is garish. It has exaggerated eyes and mouth and is stitched together from fuzzy fabrics of fluorescent orange and cobalt blue with cream colored accents. That unusual contrast reminds me how rarely I come up and lay here in top bunk. How rarely I partake of what the climb has to offer. My oldest son sleeps next me. His rhythmic breathing seems to underscore the song. It is quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you aware just how noisy "quiet" can be if you stop to listen. Everyone save me is asleep, dogs and children and now that Sun has set even the birds outside have ceased to sing.

As the dusk descends on our little town that "quiet" slips into my boys’ room revealing sounds that are always there, hidden just under the more demanding diurnal sounds. Their fish tank bubbles away while it's air pump gives off a quiet hum. The bunk bed creaks with every slight shift of my weight. My oldest son breathes softly and just below us I can hear the breathing of my youngest son. It's warm and the window is open letting in the exterior night sounds. Leaves of trees and shrubs rustle in a slight breeze. A few blocks away the railroad crossing begins to ding, and then a loud long mournful wail of a freight train cuts though the night. Twice more the train blows its whistle robbing the night of its serenity. As the echoes fade the sound of the train rolling over the tracks combines with the ringing of the crossing signal in a vain attempt to blend with the other night sounds. It's a futile attempt though. The sound of the train and crossing is harsh and out of place to the other night sounds. It strikes an odd contrast with its surroundings, like the fish. Like my own presence here.

I don’t know why I’m reluctant to make the trip up to the top bunk these days. Partly it is pragmatism I suppose. Everyday constraints of raising three children all with different needs provides an easy excuse not to. There are always excuses. I need to do dishes. I have things to pick up. I have to get your baby sister ready for bed. Your brother is younger he needs me to lay down with him. All are just rationalizations used to mask my ageism and notions of masculinity. A boy who is almost six shouldn't have to have someone lay down with him. It somehow makes him a baby, less of a man. Having your father lay down with you becomes at some unspecified point an unacceptable contrast to the process of growing up.

How did I come to believe this? Is it true? I don’t know and take enough comfort in the night sounds to question myself. Question my perceptions of fatherhood and what it is to be a male. My son runs his hand up my sleeve, he has been doing this from the time he was an infant. It must bring him some small measure of comfort, a sense of security in world that at times doesn't feel very secure. It feels good. Simultaneously it feels uncomfortable to me. The close contact of him reminds me how in frequently I am in this spot. Reminds me of how out of context I seem in this place. I wonder if being here makes me less of a man. If being here makes him less of a man. Does this now infrequent trip up become like some cruel joke to him? Have I become some Robin Goodfellow making mischief on him as he sleeps? Leading him astray from the man he is too become?

The fish has stopped twirling and now looks down on me accusingly. “Are you going to go?” He says. “No,” I whisper. “I’m going to stay.” I decide that whatever my notions of manhood and growing up are; right now, right here, this feels right. That if even for just a few short minutes the world with its problems and perceptions has melted away, has shrunk down to this small place for this brief period. As out of place as the train and the fish seem they serve a purpose and have a function. I come to the realization that the whole point of growing into manhood, of having strength, honor and virtue is to be able to provide an atmosphere that fosters moments like these. Without them masculinity would be little more than hollow shell in which to hide.

Absent now is the sound of the train. I pull myself in close to the warmth of my son. My nose is full of the sent of him, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, it just is. As I am now. I embrace the moment and close my eyes. Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo” plays on the radio as sleep takes me. Right now for this moment all is right in the world. The fish stands guard over us.

cdl

Fun for the Whole Family

2008-05-06T07:38:00.003-04:00

TUESDAY TIDBIT #2

The first rule of Hamster Fight Club is - you do not talk about Hamster Fight Club. The second rule of Hamster Fight Club is - you DO NOT talk about Hamster Fight Club. Third rule of Hamster Fight Club, no one yells Stop!, If a hamster goes limp, taps out, finish the fight. Fourth rule, one fight at a time, fellas. Fifth rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. Sixth rule, fights are to the death. And the seventh and final rule, if this is your first night at Hamster Fight Club, you have to fight.

Voltaire

2008-05-03T19:00:00.003-04:00

I finished the play list for my blog last Wednesday. When I started making the list I set out with the intention of achieving a number of goals. First I wanted it to be entertaining, when people visited and read my posts I wanted them to hear some music and say “hey, that’s a good song.” As music is a very subjective thing, I’m not sure this goal could ever be achieved in the way I envisioned. Second, I wanted the music to be reflective of the blog, or more accurately myself, since the blog has in a very strange way become a deeply personal reflection of those parts of me that don’t normally make the light of day. Ask anyone who knows me well and I think they will tell you I don’t let much to the surface most of the time. I think I achieved that goal. Third, I wanted the songs to be stuff I actually listen to and reflect the passion that I have for music in all of it's variety. I had a good time picking the songs and they span a wide range of musical styles and time periods. Yes, you could walk in on me at home and be likely to catch me listening to any of this stuff. Lastly I wanted a variety, so I told myself that I would not repeat myself. I would not put twenty five songs by Duran Duran. So I worked hard to avoid repeating artists. I would say I achieved that goal, now some of you are going to say “Hey dude you have Johnny Cash on there twice, once for “Hurt” and he sings on “Will the Circle Be Unbroken”. Well technically you would be right, but “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” is a collaborative version with about 30 artists. It is a tribute to Mother Maybelle and for those two reasons doesn’t count. My blog, my rules, nobody messes with Mother Maybelle.

There is only one artist that is in the list twice, that’s the Dixie Chicks. I have a reason. Maybe you remember that the Chicks ran into a little controversy in London. This was just prior to the Iraq invasion and on stage during a concert, band member Natalie Maines said “Just so you know, we’re on the good side with y’all. We do not want this war, this violence, and we’re ashamed that the President of the United States is from Texas” as a transition into their song “Traveling Soldier”. No as you know I’m a bit of a conservative and was a Bush supporter, so this didn’t sit too well with me. It didn’t sit too well with country music fans either. The back lash that the comment generated was unbelievable. The Chicks became hated literally over night. County Music radio stations refused to play any material by them, some of their fans threw away all their albums. There were even some CD burnings that were strangely reminiscent of the Nazi book burnings of 1930. The Chicks received hate mail and death threats. Now as I said the comment didn’t sit to well with me, but I didn’t go off the deep end either. Admittedly the Chicks weren’t on the top of my play list at the time but I didn’t hate them, I didn’t get rid of our Chicks albums. I didn’t want Natalie dead.

Now I’m a conservative and I’m proud of my country. I would say the thing that I’m most proud of is the United States Constitution. I hold that particular document more sacred than most people hold religious texts. Let’s face it, weather anyone likes it or not Natalie had a right to be ashamed that the President was from Texas. She had a right to say it. She had a right to say it anywhere and anytime she chose. It's a right guaranteed under Amendment one. The freedom of speech. Natalie had right to petition her government for redress of grievances and if she chooses to do it in a public forum in England, well then so be it. That’s the bit that those who were calling the Chicks un-American forgot. Disagreeing with the government in power is perhaps the most American thing a person can do.

Over the next few years the chicks would be largely ostracized by the corporate country music establishment. They did try to do a little damage control, but it was too late and I think they knew it. I guess taking the hit from the things you say is a little American too. One thing I will give Natalie credit for; she didn’t deny it. She didn’t try to white wash it and say she didn’t mean it. She held firm to what she said. She held firm to her shame. In 2006 the Chicks produced an album titled “Taking the Long Way”, it got almost no air play. It also debuted at number one on both the pop and country charts. In 2007 the album won five Grammy’s including best album, I have listened to it and I think it deserved it. I respect the Dixie Chicks for that accomplishment and so have included a second song in the list, the 2007 Grammy Award winner for best song “Not Ready to Make Nice”.

Here’s the thing for me and there is no getting around this. I disagree with Natalie, that’s my right. She also has the right to disagree with me. I have the right to not listen to her music. She has the right to not read my blog. I also have the right to respect her for standing up for her rights, for being American enough to not back down. I disagree with Natalie Maines, but, if push came to shove I would be willing to pick up a rifle and defend her right to voice her disagreement with me, you, the government or anyone else who came along.

I wonder if she would be as amused at the irony as me.

cdl

Quasimodo

2008-04-26T23:51:00.011-04:00

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Macbeth Act 5, Scene 5

Sometimes on Sundays after Church, I take my family out to Lunch. Now this doesn’t happen every time, but it does happen enough that I would call it common for us. We don’t always go to the same place. I like to mix it up a bit. On this last Sunday we went to the local A & W.

A & W is one of those places that never disappoints. The ambiance is as important as the food. The one that we go to is not a drive in. There is however enough memorabilia and pictures on the walls that it does hearken back to the days when such things were still common. I can clearly remember afternoons with my parents when we would drive up to one. Dad would roll down the window, push a button on the light up menu and place our order; shortly there after a cute young girl, sometimes on roller skates, would arrive with a tray to hang on the window. It would be laden with burgers, fries, Coney dogs and of course the requisite frosty mugs of root beer.

The experience for us is not quite the same; you go in rather then order from your car. Even though that key ingredient is gone there are enough similarities to make the experience nostalgic, one I look forward to. When you walk in you are immediately assailed with smell of fries and onion rings cooking in hot grease. Underneath is the sweet scent of root beer. The floor is linoleum and is polished to a high shine. The sound of a diner is every where, the pleasant hum of conversation mixing with the clink of utensils on glassware. A large flat screen TV hangs on the wall helping to not quite hide the kitchen. All of these things combine to make you very aware that this is not exactly a restaurant; but it is not fast food either. It is something between the two.

A sign sits between the cash register and dining area and reads in large friendly letters “Please Seat Yourself”. We do and I refrain from looking on the back side of the sign; not wanting to break the illusion that there are times it might actually be turned to “Please Wait for Hostess”. I use my hands to guide my two boys deeper in to the interior, following the lead of my wife who is carrying our 11 month old daughter. She weaves her way through the mostly filled booths and tables to a large round table near the TV and kitchen. The sounds and smells of people preparing food in an organized sort of chaos drifted out of the kitchen. Lisa sends me for a highchair for our daughter and begins to get our boys situated. As I go to retrieve the highchair, I notice that there is a very severely handicapped man sitting at the table next us under the TV. I brush him off as merely a curiosity, something of no consequence; I was wrong.

Sometimes it seems that life likes to take person and slap ‘em around bit; rough ‘em up just to see what kind of stuff they are really made of. A test of sorts, to see if for all their rhetoric, that cloak of heroism they wear is real. Or if it is just bullshit. I didn’t know it yet but that Sunday was to be just such a day.

We had ordered our food and had fallen into a family discussion about things familial when the gentleman at the table next us made himself noticed. I say gentleman but I am really only using that term in the politest of ways, my mind was using adjectives from the more vulgar recesses of my intellect. He certainly was a noticeable fellow; he would have been tall save for the awkward slouch that shortened him and tilted him to the side, giving the impression of every thing being just slightly askew. His head seemed only partly attached and lolled to one side bobbing around like a broken bobble head doll. His face was covered with a three or four day growth of stubble. Perhaps the effort to find the motor control for regular shaving was too much of chore to be a daily activity. This stubble surrounded a slouching malformed mouth whose teeth were jutting at irregular angles. One eye moved independent of the other in an incoherent fashion and the side of the face which held it was disfigured or ruined through some unknown trauma. Running down his legs was pair of metal braces that connected to a pair of brown leather shoes. Those shoes were so hideously ugly, so devoid of anything to be considered fashionable that it could only have been from a deliberate effort to ignore form in favor of function. Leaning against his chair was a white cane with a red tip. Apparently even vision was a struggle. Behind him was a mobility device that contrasted starkly with the leg braces. Where the braces had an air of antiquity this device was clearly twenty first century. Something of a cross between a wheel chair and a walker it was designed so you could lower yourself down onto a flat black seat, grab the handle bars and shuffle along with your feet. It was bright red and equipped with a hand brake; a cruel joke that screamed speed would never be a consideration for the individual condemned to use it. Everything about this person caused the negative part of me to react strongly, revulsion rising in me like bile. Take every cruel gesture and harsh word you used in high school to ridicule the kids on the short bus and you will be close to what was going through my mind.

He hauled himself to his feet and with a Herculean effort began shambling toward us. Loathing flowed through me as this creature began his journey, a reincarnation of some monster from the movies I used to watch on Saturdays as a kid. Only this time there was no monster hunter to save me, no Vincent Price to leap in front of the fell beast, drive a stake through its heart sending it back to hell. I was on my own. Outwardly you would never guess these thoughts were at the forefront of my mind, but inwardly I was reacting as one would to a leper. Fear screaming at me to run, to run the other direction fast as possible in an effort to avoid the taint. I felt that he had some contagion, a malady that would in some incomprehensible way pass to me.

As fortune would have it he made his way to my wife. I did not intercede. Rather I sat like deer in the headlights with only look passing between myself and my wife. A look that clearly said “you’re on your own.” Every man for his or her self, no heroism from me today, least I become tainted. He began to speak to her. His voice was hushed, subdued and barely articulate. Words were replaced with animalistic guttural sounds that only vaguely approximated speech. If you strained hard enough and used enough imagination you could sort of understand what he was saying. As my wife leaned in to hear and understand what he was trying to communicate I found my self wondering what had happened to him. Was this some birth defect, or was it some sort of accident that put him in this state?

My wife straightened out and looked at my boys. She had deciphered what he was trying to say. “Did you hear that?” She said to them. He began to speak again now looking at my boys. My wife translated. “He didn’t listen to his to Mommy,” She said her words echoed by him in an eerie sort of way. “He rode his bike in the road when he was fourteen, his Momma told him not to and he got hit by a car.”

She gave them a look and he continued, louder and clearer now, making a desperate effort to be understood. “So you always listen to your Mom,” he finished. The boys nodded and murmured ascent. I had my answer now, this was no birth defect; rather it was a simple case of Johnny getting his gun. A horrible accident that relegated him to this fate. That’s when I stared to think about the irony. One split second, one moment of poor decision making had sentenced him to a lifetime of ridicule. I started to feel something for him then, no longer was he monster. He was person trapped in what was once the shell of person. I started in vain to look for a way to justify my reaction, put reason to prejudice. Perhaps it was biological, the natural tendency of the group to leave behind the weak and infirm; ostracizing them to guarantee that the strongest and fittest will continue the line, a small sacrifice of one for the good of the whole.

While I struggled to put reason to reaction, this person continued to talk to my wife. He asked her something unintelligible to me. I then saw them embrace. It was a long hug that was at once somehow offensive and desperate. I wondered how much this man had endured. This man who could barely communicate and move. How often was he ostracized? How often dismissed and cast aside. How often was he ridiculed as circus side show freak? Was there some part of him that wanted to cast aside those braces, stand and yell in a clear voice for the entire world to hear, “I am not a monster!”?

As I struggled with these thoughts he said to my wife, “you have a good heart,” then returned to his seat, his gait as awkward as my feelings. Our food arrived and outwardly I continued the small talk that families engage in. Inwardly, however I was questioning the perception I had about myself. It gnawed at me and would preoccupy my thoughts for the next few days.

Partway though our lunch he rose again, one of the waitresses passed by him and smiling said “Hello Robert.” Robert. He now had a name and it somehow made him more human. Robert approached my wife again and spoke to her. She looked at me in the questioning way that wives look at their husbands. That universal rule that says if I don’t have the answer I know you will provide it for me. I shrugged my shoulders. He mumbled something that again I didn’t catch. My wife said “I’m sorry I don’t think we have room to give you a ride.” Robert shuffled off into other parts of the A & W, presumably in search of a ride.

I worked at finishing my meal part of me thinking that I had somehow dodged the preverbal bullet. The other part of me however was wondering what had brought Robert to this place on this day. Was it some hand of fate or mere coincidence? Did Robert come for similar reasons? I came here not only because I like the food but I also like the atmosphere. I like the memories that this place brought back to me of my child hood. They are rarely at the fore front of my mind preferring to remain hidden in my subconsince on most trips here. Rather they stay just below the surface creating a pleasant sense of well being in me. Was this the same for Robert? Did he come here to escape the harshness of the world? Did this place remind him of his days before the accident? Was A & W some sort of weird common denominator for us?

Fate was not finished with me yet though. Robert had returned after making a circuit of the restaurant and now turned his attention on me. I resisted the urge to recoil as he leaned toward me. Grunts that passed for language passed from his lips forming themselves into something remotely recognizable. “Could you give me a ride?”

My moment of truth had arrived. Was I to be hero or villain? Would I say yes? Would I say no? Would I stand and take one hand and bang it against my chest in a limp wristed fashion while screaming in an animal sounding voice “get away from me freak! Animal!”

I looked at him and calm as possible said “I’m sorry but all my seats are full with my family.” True. Relief welled through me, I had ducked this test. There was no room for Robert. Logic, reason and simple physics had provided an escape from this predicament. I could go secure in the belief that I treat the disabled in a heroic manner. I would not have to pony up. Not today anyway, there was no room. Robert said “thank you,” and began the arduous trip back to his table. His problems his own.

That’s when my five year old soon slid his chair over toward his mother a foot or so. He looked at me and said “Daddy there’s room right here,” gesturing toward the space he had created. Child like innocence and an ability to look past the superficial and see the whole had conspired to slap me in the face. This simple gesture made without judgment or prejudice, a simple act of heroism had shamed me.

I looked at my boy and said “that’s not what he meant, but it was very nice of you to make room. You’re a good boy.” We finished the last of our meal and prepared to leave. On the way out I realized I was left with lingering questions. Was I as non judgmental as I had believed? What would I have done if I had been by my self or not had the kids with me? Would I have stepped up the plate and been a hero to this man? Is it what a man thinks that makes him a hero or is it his actions? Is action driven out of guilt or fear of being labeled a bigot heroic?

I made my way back to our car with my youngest son while my wife other two children took care of the bill. It was sunny and warm, a beautiful day that brought no warmth to the dark corners of my mind. It was the fourth Sunday after Easter precisely three Sundays after Low Sunday or Quasimodo Sunday as it is known in France. I’m not an especially religious man but I found the coincidence strangely disturbing. Victor Hugo delivers his broken man to Frollo on Quasimodo Sunday on the foundling’s bed. Frollo names him Quasimodo for it. Robert is “delivered” to me three Sundays later at A & W.

What if Shakespeare is right? What if life is just a “poor player”? What then is my role? Robert is Quasimodo. My Wife is Esmeralda. Who then am I, what part do I play? Frollo or Captain Phoebus? Villain or superficial hero?

cdl

Don Quixote

2008-04-19T19:10:00.003-04:00

Old windmills have always captured my attention. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because they tend to be out in the middle of nowhere, isolated from the corruption of the city. Lonely sentinels, standing guard over some forgotten thing, or maybe some forgotten time. They are intriguing for the hidden story that they hold. Who put them there? When? Why. What is it about them that have caused there creator to turn his back abandoning them to the ravages of time and weather? Once proud and tall these windmills have now become rusty, broken and bent, remnants of another time.

A time I missed by twenty or thirty years I think, back when more people lived outside the cities then in, a time when people knew the first names of everyone at the grain elevator. When the center of town was still the center and it was alive. The town square still held the court house. You could see two monster movies on a Saturday for dime at the bijou. There was a five and dime store where inside for the price of quarter you could sit down at the soda counter and for a few moments wash your cares away with a root beer float. In front of the local gas station, you would find a few old farmers who for the price of an ice cold coke and game of checkers would part with the wisdom they had harvested from the earth. Old and leathery they smile at you as sitting down you move your piece. Their faces are lined roadmaps of where they have been and what they have seen; the lines tracing across the sun brown skin leading to the corners of the eyes and mouth. Those eyes twinkle with mirth and the smiles comes easy to the broken in faces. Rough worn hands move a piece in response, hands that are bent and broken from a lifetime of coxing life from the earth. Conversation flows easily. Every turn of phrase contains a double entendre that sinks into your psyche taking with it the accumulated knowledge of these men. You’re enveloped in the blue haze and heady aroma of pipe tobacco and rolled cigarettes. Pieces move back and forth quickly as you talk. You hear the murmurs of agreement and disagreement as moves are made and pieces taken. Hank, the station owner walks out; silently watching while wiping greasy hands on a greaser red rag. After what seems to be an eternity you move a piece and quietly say “King me.”

Nods of approval and quiet chuckles at the expense of their peer come from the old men watching. These professors of the earth have seen many a checker game and know that this one will soon be yours. Just a mater of time. Time. A currency not lightly traded by these men. You have passed the test though, been accepted and found worthy. The hiss of tires on pavement followed by a double ding from within the repair bay signal the arrival of work for Hank. Taking the last piece you lean back in the creaky chair, basking in the glory of defeating the accumulated wisdom present. You take a long pull on a sweaty coke. Fading sunlight glints off beads of water. A soft breeze brings the smell of fresh cut alfalfa and fresh baked apple pie from Mabel’s Dinner. In the distance you can hear children laughing and the rattle of a far off train.

That breeze continues across town carrying with it the sights and sounds of the age. This lost piece of Americana. Carries it out to the edge of town where the buildings and homes give way to the endless prairie. Once wild it has now been tamed and is a patch work of fields and farms. All of them dotted here and there with windmills. Those windmills turn their solitary eye into that wind. They soak up all that goes on around them, silent observers; historians of an age that will soon pass. An age to replace by suburbs, strip centers, shopping malls and mini marts. A new age where people become isolated by their technology. Where you can climb in the safety of an air-conditioned automobile. Never have to put down the window for a friendly wave or a “hello” as you pass a neighbor. You don’t know their name. Fields have been plowed under, windmills knocked down. The town center is dead, store front windows white washed. “For Rent” signs neatly in place.

I sometimes think that the only things to stand against the advance are the windmills. Those quiet guardians of time, now bent, broken and rusty. Those windmills are in a silent battle with gravity and the vines and creepers that cover them and struggle with them. Caught in a desperate attempt to return them to the earth they have watched over. Those windmills will nothing to do with it. Stubbornly they stand against time, nature and progress; Knights of a world now gone. They make their chivalric last stand.

They make a stand against an enemy that has taken on its own singular presence, a twisted reincarnation of Don Quixote. Roles reversed it is now the windmill who is Knight and Don Quixote has become the “giant” of time and change. Who will win, the odds favor Don Quixote this time around I fear, though I shall not help him. I will not empower Don Quixote. I will not tilt against these windmills. I would rather leave them as reminders, cenotaphs to a time now gone.

cdl

Hot Summer Days

2008-04-07T13:41:00.007-04:00

Last Wednesday I saw a robin in the back yard. I like birds but this robin was no great thing save for the fact that it was the second day of April and this was the first of the season for me. A sure sign that spring is here. The next morning on the walk into work from the parking lot I was serenaded by the many frogs that inhabit the ponds surrounding the secondary complex. Then on Saturday while photographing my daughters first time in a swing, a flying insect landed on my camera. As with the robin neither of these two events was any great thing except for the fact they have been absent for so long. It’s said good things come in threes and here they were presented for my introspection, spring has arrived, life returns to the world.

This arrival has set me pining away for summer. For those hot summer days that bring back visions of my youth. I was born in Bay City, Michigan and spent the first three years of my life here. I bounced around between Bay City and Flint and Walled Lake but I have no real memories of these years. Only fleeting images that flash briefly in my mind only to slip away when you try to grasp them, examine them and dig for the truth of yourself in them. They are the kinds of memories that you are never quite sure if they are real or imagined. Products of stories told to you by others, memories created to fill in the gaps in some vain attempt at completing yourself. So for me the first three years are fiction, events that happened to someone else. I begin in Iowa, those become the years that define me, make me who I am.

I miss those days of youth, those hot summer days. There was something magical about that time. I don’t think I can imagine any better place in this universe then Iowa in August, standing out at some lonely crossroads. There is no pavement, only two roads of crushed limestone. There are the obligatory stop signs. They serve no purpose however for you may stand there in the heat all day and never see a car. Standing in the middle you can look to each compass point and see an empty brown line that stretches to the horizon. You can taste the dust in your mouth. These roads don’t get oiled to keep the dust down, there’s no point in it, there’s no one out here anyway. Your shirt sticks to your back and the buzz of cicadas and grasshoppers is omnipresent. The breeze comes and goes doing nothing to mitigate the heat, rather it punctuates it. It brings the sound of the corn fields that lay all around and brings the complex smells of farms at the edge of the prairie. Insecticides and fertilizer combine with earth, corn and manure of cows and pigs to create a unique fragrance that can only be found in this place. The wind changes the color of the corn revealing the lighter green underside of the leaves. It creates waves of light green on ocean of dark green, waves that wash up at a red barn with huge shiny metal silos. They shine so bright it’s like looking into the sun. Everything ripples with the heat, mesmerizing you with its mirage like quality. The corn is tall, turning the roads into corridors lined with pale blue chicory. Meadow larks, chickadees and sparrows combine to create a song that ties everything together.

This is the place of my youth, a place of swimming holes and railroad trestles. I would spend hours walking the track returning home with pockets full of the things young boy’s treasure. It was a place of tree houses. It was a place of hunting crawdads in the crick. It was a place of tennis ball because baseballs broke windows. It was a place of soft serve ice cream that melted faster then you could eat it. It was a place of orange push ups and orange crush. It was a place of stars on a hot summer night. This was my Eden. I’m reminded of what Shoeless Joe said to Ray in Field of Dreams, “Is this Heaven?” Rays says “No, it’s Iowa.” I think maybe Ray got it wrong.

I was cast out just before my eleventh birthday. I came back to Michigan in May of 1979, my Dads work brought us back. I was not to realize it then but I would never be able to go back. I could return to the place sure, but now it just a place for me. I’m tainted by adulthood. The magic is gone and my youth with it. They can only be revisited in my memories now and hence I look forward to those hot summers days just ahead. For on the edge of the heat is the tantalizing reminder of my youth. Just out of grasp, but enough I think to make the heat bearable.

I hope one day to return there, end my days there. Maybe I just might be able to return to that garden one last time. Buy a farm house in the rural countryside, one surrounded by corn fields; an old one, not run down but worn with time and age like myself. Something with a history, like myself. The pealing paint and lose boards a testament to a life that was lived. I can see my self as an old man sitting on a porch in a creaking chair. It’s evening and the air is hot and still. Beads of sweat run down the beer that I am holding. A ceiling fan turns slowly over head squeaking with each rotation. There is a radio next to me and the Cubs are playing. They are still looking for that World Series because some dreams should always remain as dreams. They are the birth place of hope. The sky transitions from blue to orange, then red, then pink, and then finally to black, and the blanket of stars is pulled across the landscape. The summer triangle is high over head. A dog barks in the distance. My eyes close and the bottle falls from my hand. Beer gurgles out onto the wooden porch and I am no more. I have come home, returned to Eden. Is this heaven? No it’s Iowa.

cdl

My Manifesto

2008-03-01T20:00:00.002-05:00

"...And during the few moments that we have left, we want to have just an off-the-cuff chat between you and me -- us. We want to talk right down to earth in a language that everybody here can easily understand."
--Malcom X

Ok, as I have often been misrepresented and maligned by the propagandists of Artichoke land, I feel the time as come for me to set the facts straight. To make my beliefs a matter of public record. So here it is in a nutshell.
I am not a Republican. I have been in the past. For some time, over the last four years in particular I have felt a growing gap between myself and the Republican party. I have voted for Republican party in all cases. The biggest difficulty with the two party system is that it limits choice and though I feel separated from the ideologies of Republican candidates there is for me a greater separation from the democratic candidates. This separation of ideology is even greater with the buttload of subparties that are out there, some quite scary. Check out the Progressive Labor Party if you want. So where does that leave me? I’m an Independent; in addition, I cast a Republican vote in the Michigan 2008 presidential primary which is allowed by Michigan law. I voted for Fred Thompson. That’s my politics.
Of course, politics is driven by ideology so here is what drives that. I am an Athiest. I am an Objectivist. I am a fiscal and security conservative. I am a social liberal. I am a capitalist. If you don’t know what those are, don’t debate me, your not worthy. You may learn more about these topics by clicking on the highlighted text. As you can see I am an eclectic aggregate of a number of ideologies and not easily fit into a single mold.
As to the current bit of misinformed propaganda that has been lobbed at me by the left “You Might Be a Leibrand If You Believe...”, I would like to address it point by point.

Give me a break. This whole thing is the biggest fairytale I've ever seen.”
--Bill Clinton

1. Jesus loves you, and shares your hatred of homosexuals and Hillary Clinton

I am an atheist and as such do not hold to the view that a “supreme being” or intellect created the universe. The assertion that I do is patently false. I believe religion to be man’s invention. While some of the values and morals espoused by various religions I would agree with, I still find the basic philosophy of theology to be based on false premise, therefore, inherently flawed. Until a supreme intelligence can be proven through the use of empirical evidence, I will maintain this viewpoint.

As for the subject of homosexuals, I will go on the record and state that I have no problem with gays. I am not gay but they do not bother me either, in fact, I would go so far as to say that lesbians are hot (the ones in high heels anyway, comfortable shoes don’t do it for me). Lesbians that let me watch are even hotter (in this case the shoes don’t matter so much.) Homosexual guys don’t do it for me but if that is what you want, well hey go for it. As to gay rights, they boil down this way for me. First, I see the issue as economic. Gay couples are seeking the same tax and health care benefits as non-gay couples. The tool they are using to achieve this end is through legalized gay marriage. This is all about the legal aspects, if a gay couple wants to get “married” for love or religious reasons there is nothing stopping them. I say go for it. The need to legalize gay marriage is to get the same legal benefits. I do believe that strongest form of family is one man and one woman raising any number of children. It is the norm. Gay couples in a monogamous relationship can’t by definition have children and therefore can only have what I believe to be a “family’ in a limited sense. So this is where I stand, I would not allow gay marriage. I would keep marriage as a “one man, one woman” status to promote what I believe is the “best” form of family. I would allow gay couples a legal “civil union” that would give them similar economic benefits to a legal marriage with the exception of the marriage tax credit. This would protect the majority’s view of marriage in our culture while extending many of the economic advantages like combined health care to gay couples who enter in a legal “civil union”. I would allow gay couples to adopt children but would allow greater preference to heterosexual couples. I would do this as I believe children are best raised in an environment with a mother and a father; however two loving same sex parents would be preferable to one parent or none. Gay couples could still hire an egg or sperm donor and surrogate or be artificially inseminated; the government has no business telling them they can’t. I believe gay rights is an issue that does not require federal mandate and should be handled at the state level. The federal government should only be testing the constitutionality of gay rights laws. Secondly, I believe the importance of the gay rights issues for the gay community is one of acceptance. I believe the gay community feels that they can legitimize behavior that is contrary to the cultural norms or our society by legalizing that behavior. This of course is a generalization and is not necessarily applicable to all members of the gay community. Further, as it addresses ones insecurities and self-esteem, it is unlike that any members of the gay community would admit to this reason. No amount of legislation will make all people approve, condone or accept what is largely an abnormal behavior. It makes no difference if it is a behavior of personal choice or one of nature. It is still a behavior that is not the norm in our society; therefore, it is abnormal. There will always be a percentage of the population as a whole who will disapprove of that behavior and a small percentage that will abhor the behavior. However, it’s still the responsibility of the government to protect an individual’s right to be gay (either by choice or nature). This is the kind of behavior that for the most part only affects the individuals in the relationship. As for people not liking gays, the government can’t stop that; some people will always dislike people who are gay. I’m not one of them. You can find out more about gay rights here, Public Agenda.

I do not hate Hillary Clinton. Hate is something best left to the far left or far right. I do not agree with Ms. Clinton’s stated politics or ideology; that’s not same thing as hate and only one of a poor intellect would confuse the two. Based on Ms. Clinton’s actions, I would hold that her stated politics and ideology is consistent with her behavior, so I do not believe she has misrepresented herself. As to her personal morality and ethics, I have no personal dealing with Ms. Clinton and the crimes and ethical dilemmas she has been accused of have not been proven conclusively true. So to be fair to Ms. Clinton I will presume her innocent until shown otherwise. You can find out more about Ms. Clinton here, Hillary for President.

2. Saddam was a good guy when Reagan armed him, a bad guy when Bush's Daddy made war on him, a good guy when Cheney did business with him, and a bad guy when Bush needed a 'we can't find Bin Laden' diversion.

I have never stated that Saddam Hussein was ever a “Good Guy”; I would challenge Matthew to provide evidence to the contrary. I do not believe that will happen as he has stated to me in at least one personal email that he does not have time to vet or check his sources for the “As the Artichoke Turns”, this of course speaks to his credibility as a political commentator. Conversely, I would be hard pressed to provide the email in which Matthew stated this so the reader will have to make the determination as to the credibility of either Matthew or myself based upon their own experiences. I will publicly state that the arming of Saddam Hussein was an immoral choice for the United State no matter how pragmatic the decision seemed at the time. It is therefore the United States’ moral responsibility to rectify that wrong. This alone should have been the primary and sole reason for the Iraq invasion. For me any other considerations are not only secondary but moot.

Saddam Hussein used the weapons the United States paid for to invade another sovereign nation. His objective was two fold first he used the threat of force to try and extort 30 billion dollars from OPEC. Failing that he invaded the nation of Kuwait with intention of seizing Kuwaiti oil fields. This would have given him a much larger percentage of the light sweet crude oil production in the gulf region. That control would have put him in the position of extorting his money from the west. The United States, with United Nations support and the assistance of 34 other nations, removed him from Kuwait. I believe the United States did the moral thing in this instance.

I do not believe the United States government should be in the business of telling any cooperation or individual who they may do business with. (I will get to more of this in the next point) I do believe that the government, press, or individuals can say who a cooperation or individual is doing business with. If Vice President Cheney and Halliburton wished to business with Iraq that is on their moral conscience, I would not have. If it comes out publicly and aversely affects their stock so be it.

“And a bad guy when Bush needed a 'we can't find Bin Laden' diversion”, well if that’s how Matthew wants to see the war in Iraq that is of course his choice. President G. W. Bush or his administration has never claimed that’s why they invaded Iraq. The Bush administration has consistently used the proven facts of Iraq’s violation of twelve United Nations resolutions, the belief that Iraq was actively sponsoring global terrorism and the belief that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction (WMDs). History has shown that he was indeed in violation of the twelve U.N. resolutions. You can find that information here, United Nations resolutions in regard to Iraq. While Iraqi involvement with the terrorist organization Al Queda is limited it must be remembered that the larger war on terror was against all terrorism not just Al Queda. You can find information on Iraqi involvement in terrorist activities here, Iraq's Involvement in the Palestinian Terrorist Activity against Israel. As for the WMDs they obviously did not materialize. However the intelligence data used had support not only from U.S. intelligence agencies, but many other foreign agencies as well as the United States Congress. There was support for this belief prior to the invasion in Congress from both democrats and republicans. I think it prudent however to note that Saddam Hussein actively worked to make the world believe that he did have WMDs, additionally it has been shown that it is very likely that Iraq did have WMDs prior to the invasion, though presumably not in the quantities originally believed. You can find information this here, Exporting Saddam’s WMDs, and here, Iraq and Weapons of Mass Destruction. For a brief history of the Saddam Hussein regime you can go here, The Long Road to War.

It is difficult to tell from how Matthew’s post has been presented how he feels about Saddam Hussein. If I were to venture a guess I would have to conclude that he feels that Saddam was an ok bloke and would be a great guy to share a beer with. I think that it’s clear he feels the United States had no business being in Iraq. Clearly, Saddam’s gassing of thousands of Kurds, invasions of neighbor countries, history of brutal suppression of minorities within Iraq, hatred of Jews, previous attempts at WMD programs, terrorist training camps and control of mass media are items of little consequence. Apparently, based upon the preponderance of his published opinion on “As the Artichoke Turns”, the United States is “evil” and Iraq is “good”. Though to be fair this is supposition on my part as he has not clearly stated his view of that matter.

3. Trade with Cuba is wrong because the country is Communist, but trade with China and Vietnam is vital to a spirit of international harmony.

I believe in free trade with all nations. Personally, I would have lifted the economic sanctions against Cuba decades ago. I do not believe economic sanctions do what they are intended to do. Generally speaking I believe all they do is punish the people of a country and build animosity amongst that population against the United States. That seems to the opposite of what we want. Those kinds of sanctions rarely affect the leadership of the targeted regime. As I have stated previously, if a cooperation or individual chooses to or not to do business with an immoral regime is their choice. The risk they run is poor public opinion and the resulting affect is their bottom line. The only things the United States should be doing with regard to trade in foreign policy are: firstly, protecting the economic interest of United States citizens and corporations; secondly, fostering an atmosphere of fair trade with all nations. I am not enough of an economist to say if I agree with all the tenants of fair trade, but do think it has a good moral basis. You can find out more about fair trade here, Fair Trade and Fair Trade Federation.

4. The United States should get out of the United Nations, and our highest national priority is enforcing U.N. resolutions against Iraq.

I believe the United Nations to be an immoral, corrupt and ineffective organization. I am on the record with my belief that we should withdraw from the United Nations. The only areas of successes I believe the U.N. has had are in fighting hunger, disease, and advocating for children’s rights. I would continue to support UNICEF if it could be shown to be financially and structurally autonomous from the U.N.

I have stated that the United States should enforce the United Nations resolutions against Iraq. To suggest that these two positions are mutually inclusive is ridiculous. The United States has a moral responsibility to adhere to agreed upon positions and resolutions made while a member of the United Nations, the twelve resolutions in question are among these. The United States does not have a moral responsibility to maintain membership in that organization. To learn more about the United Nations you can look here, United Nations and here United Nations Scandal.

5. A woman can't be trusted with decisions about her own body, but multinational drug corporations can make decisions affecting all mankind without regulation.

This obviously refers to the abortion issue. I will publicly go on the record in saying that I am Pro-Choice, though I have chosen to be responsible for all the children I have participated in making and would always council my partner to alternative means. I do respect the right of a woman to chose and I do believe the father should have some say (though not final) and should have the opportunity to be consulted on the matter. So why do I believe this, what is my reasoning? Well I believe humans have rights because we can act contrary to our own self preservation. We can choose to die for a higher ethical value; we can do this because we can reason. Rights are derived from this ability to reason, to moral and ethical distinctions. An animal cannot reason. Animals can only act on instinct. Hence, animals do not have rights and is why eating a hamburger is not an act of murder. A human’s ability to reason is a direct result of high brain function. Therefore, a human has rights when there is high brain function. As matter of law, when a human ceases to have high brain function (becomes brain dead), they cease to have rights and those rights pass to the closest in legally defined kinship. It is important to note that a human can still have lower brain activity and still be alive. It is therefore logical to maintain laws that are consistent. If a human’s rights end at brain death, then they must begin at the first sign of high brain activity. This is not at the moment of conception but is at or around the end of the first trimester. Consequently, I support abortion (though it is not a choice I would personally make) prior to this point. Abortion after this point is murder as the fetus has high brain activity and, therefore, has rights. Partial birth abortion is abhorrent and is clearly murder. Cases of incest, rape and health risk to the mother are largely self evident in my opinion and I will not get into them but would welcome debate on the subject. The assertion that I do not trust a woman with decision about her own body is, therefore, incorrect. The abortion issue breaks down three ways: rights begin at birth and are function of divinity; rights begin at some point during gestation and are a function of nature; rights begin at the moment of birth as to why I totally fail to understand. You can get information about the Pro-Choice position here, National Abortion Federation (NAF). You can get information about the Pro-Life position here, Right to Life. You can find information about partial birth abortion here, Partial Birth Abortion.

As to multinational drug companies, this is so vague that I am unsure as to what specific policy decision or position Matthew is referring to; he will have to clarify this through rebuttal. Drug corporations that operate within the United States are regulated by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). On the whole I feel they do a pretty good job maintaining food and drug safety; if there is a specific issue that Mathew has he may present it for debate. I do not believe I have publicly stated any position on drug companies or the FDA. I do not know how a person can live in the United States for nearly thirteen years and never have heard of the FDA. Being that uninformed clearly speaks to ones credibility. You can learn more about the FDA here, Food and Drug Administration.

6. The best way to improve military morale is to praise the troops in speeches, while slashing veterans' benefits and combat pay.

I have never made this assertion, once again a false accusation and I would challenge Matthew to show otherwise. For the record, I would favor improvement of veterans’ benefits and an increase in combat pay. This would probably increase morale but it is not why I would do it. I would do it because they deserve it and it is the moral thing to do. You can find out about current combat pay rates here, Combat Pay (Imminent Danger Pay). You can find out about veterans’ benefits here, Department of Veteran Affairs.

7. If condoms are kept out of schools, adolescents won't have sex.

Again, a position I have not stated or professed to hold (I think we are beginning to see a pattern here). The simple fact of the matter is that we live in a society where neither the parents nor educational system consistently teach individual responsibility. So, if children cannot be trusted to not have sex then it is prudent to offer a contraceptive and safe sex alternative. You also have to make them aware of it. I favor voluntary age appropriate sex education from elementary on up through high school. You want to make condoms available go ahead. Additionally, I do not believe children should be able to get chemical contraceptive (the pill or its various forms), an Intrauterine Device (IUD), or an abortion with out parental consent. I believe that abstinence is the only form of birth control and sexually transmitted disease (STD) prevention that guarantees 100% effectiveness and should be promoted as the first choice to children. You can get more information about birth control for teens here, Adolescent Protective Behaviors.

8. A good way to fight terrorism is to belittle our longtime allies, then demand their cooperation and money.

Yet another vague reference to a political policy or decision; I believe that if you do a little looking you will find this a common tactic among the far left and far right hate monger bloggers. I do not believe I have professed this viewpoint ever and would welcome debate on the matter if a specific instance of mine were provided.

9. Providing health care to all Iraqis is sound policy, but providing health care to all Americans is socialism. HMO's and insurance companies have the best interests of the public at heart.

Actually I do believe I have weighed in on this one, I don’t remember where but I do specifically remember saying to someone “Why the fuck are we giving all the damned Iraqi’s fucking health care!?” While not one of my shining moments, I think it clearly illustrates my position while simultaneously showing Matthew has no clue as to what he writing about.

HMO’s and insurance companies do not have the best interest of the public at heart, they are not supposed to. Their first concern should be their stock holders; that’s called capitalism. The power the consumer has is that he can change health care providers. Many larger employers offer more than one choice; in addition, you can always go out and purchase heath care on your own. We live in a system that rewards success; I would encourage everyone to be successful. Barring that, you will have to fundamentally change American society and elect a socialist; if that’s what you want I recommend you take a look at Barack Obama. I will acknowledge the health care system is screwed up but this is not the reason. For now, I will leave heath care for its own post and debate it further at a later time as it’s that big an issue and problem.

10. Global warming and tobacco's link to cancer are junk science, but creationism should be taught in schools.

Good grief. I have publicly stated that global warming warrants a serious look. As for an opinion on the matter, the jury is still out: could be from mans’ influence, could be natural. In either case, it makes sense to make economical choices in regard to waste, pollution and recycling. This starts at the individual level. For myself, I have switched all the lights in my house (with the exception of two that are on dimmers) to low energy lights, I have a number of reusable “green bags” for shopping and I now cloth diaper. Hell, I don’t even use disposable butt wipes for the baby anymore as I have cloth wipes. So in this instance I have made an attempt to put my money where my mouth is. You can find out more about global warming here, Globalwarming.org and here, Environmental Protection Agency. You can easy ways to go green in your life here, The Green Guide.

Tobacco causes cancer. It’s been written on the side of the little box since the 1970’s. I knew when I started smoking at age fourteen; I knew when I quit at age thirty three. If anyone does not know this they must be completely dissociated from society. Consequently, anyone who started smoking after the little warning went on the box should not be able to sue the government or the tobacco companies. Any one before that can shoot for the moon. You can find out more about the dangers of tobacco use here, National Institute on Drug Abuse.

I believe creationism should be taught in schools as should most major religions as well as the lost science of philosophy, ethics and a number of other things. I do not believe creationism; I do not fear it either as I do not fear Hegle and Kant (those are philosophers, Matthew). Understanding creationism makes it easier to debunk. For those who are keeping score Matthew just lost two more points and scored one, well maybe one. You can find out more about creationism here, Creation Science.

11. A president lying about an extramarital affair is an impeachable offense, but a president lying to enlist support for a war in which thousands die is solid defense policy.

I am partly guilty of this. President Bill Clinton denied having sexual relations with Monica Lewinsky in deposition regarding Paula Jones. During this deposition he was under oath. Later during closed circuit grand jury testimony he admitted to having oral sex with Miss Lewinsky and allegedly inserted a cigar into her vagina. This constituted potential perjury (President Clinton contended that it was not as he did not consider these acts as constituting sexual relations) an impeccable offence and a felony crime punishable in federal court by up to five years per lie. An impeachment hearing was held and President Clinton avoided impeachment by one vote. You be the judge, did he commit perjury? If you say yes the down side is that a criminal stayed in the office of President. If you say no then I would go get a blow job from the next attractive girl you see as it’s not cheating. You can find out more about President Bill Clinton’s impeachment here, Clinton Impeachment.

President Gorge W. Bush was offered conflicting analysis of the presence of WMD’s in Iraq, he chose wrong. I know of no evidence that shows an impeachable offense or even an outright lie by President Bush and would welcome examples for debate. Oddly, I was not able to find any credible sources that address the issue of Iraqi WMDs and Bush’s assessment; lots of far left hate blogs but no credible sources, universities, news agencies, accredited think tanks or the like. Sorry, but I do vet my sources; I will keep looking and try to return to this topic in future posts.

12. Government should limit itself to the powers named in the Constitution, which include banning gay marriages and censoring the Internet.

Another score for Matthew, yes I do believe the government should limit itself to the powers named in the Constitution. The Constitution does not specifically address gay marriage or internet censorship. Before you debate the Constitution, you really should read it. As for what the Constitution says there are two schools of thought. First, the Constitution is rigid and should be interpreted verbatim; second, the constitution is a flexible and may be more “loosely” interpreted by the Supreme Court. I fall into the second category as this allows the Constitution to be a “living” document that can easily continue to benefit changes in society’s mores and values with little change to the document itself. The clause in the Constitution that sets the second precedent is know as the “elastic clause” and is found in Article 1, Section 8, Clause 18 of the United States Constitution. As for gay rights, I am on the record already (look above). As for internet censorship, I don’t have a position at this time. If pressed I would probably approve tighter regulation of the internet but on the whole I am very against censorship as free speech is protected by the First Amendment. Remember, kids, if we are going to debate the United States Constitution or constitutional law we should really have read the pertinent document. You can find it here: The United States Constitution. If you would like to know more about the “elastic clause” look here, Necessary-and-proper clause.

13. The public has a right to know about Hillary's cattle trades, but George Bush's driving record is none of our business.

The public should be provided with both Hillary Clinton’s cattle trades and George Bush’s driving record. My thoughts here are that if we had complete transparency it would show Ms. Clinton’s trade to be illegal and President G. W. Bush to have some driving under the influence (DUI) charges showing that he was at one time a drunk. President Bush has admitted to having a drinking problem; Ms. Clinton has not admitted to stock manipulation. I do not know how factual these statements are so for the time being I will not serve President Bush alcohol and will not ask Ms. Clinton to be my investment broker. Here is some information about the cattle trades, Hillary Clinton Futures Trade Detailed and G. W. Bush’s DUI arrest.

14. Being a drug addict is a moral failing and a crime, unless you're a conservative radio host. Then it's an illness and you need our prayers for your recovery.

Drug addiction is a personal choice and a crime. If caught, you should go to jail. This includes Rush Limbaugh whose cases were mostly bungled by the prosecutor. You can read more about Rush’s little problem here, Rush Limbaugh. I have never been on record about this prior to now.

15. Supporting 'Executive Privilege' for every Republican ever born, who will be born or who might be born (in perpetuity.)

I have no idea what the hell Matthew is talking about here. If I had to guess I would say it has something to do with the Attorney General’s office, but until I get clarification I will take a pass on this one. I will just chalk it up to the incoherent ramblings of a deranged mind. Until then you may prep for the debate by reading up on executive privilege here.

16. What Bill Clinton did in the 1980's is of vital national interest, but what Bush did in the '90's is irrelevant.

As above with point thirteen, there should be full transparency for both. As no specific instance is offered I will offer no supporting documentation.

17. Support hunters who shoot their friends and blame said friends for wearing orange vests similar to those worn by the quail.

I have never really gone on the record with this one either so here I go. Hunters who shoot any person should be held accountable in the same manner any normal citizen would. This is up to the local prosecutor. If that had been me, I would have thrown the book at him simply for failing to promptly report the incident to local authorities, seems like a violation of state’s rights to me. I would have charged him and let the chips fall where they may. If that leads to jail time and impeachment so be it. I was unaware that Vice President Cheney laid the blame on his friend and would like to see credible documentation to support that.

So there you are. Matthew clearly has no idea of what my politics, ideology and beliefs are. Based on his post he clearly is more comfortable with unfounded accusations and innuendo. This is not worthy of an individual with his intellect and makes me question that intellect as well as his credibility in these matters. Read through his posts on As the Artichoke Turns and you will find that he rarely provides supporting documentation and when he does, he rarely vets his sources. You find a left bias; nowhere will you find commentary on that which is negative to the left or to Democrats. Only Republicans and the right will get his scorn. You will not find mention of cattle trades, “Travel Gate”, extramarital affairs, suicide bombers, terrorists, mass graves, WMDs used on Kurds, nor women and children used as human shield. Nope you won’t find any of that there. In Matthew’s world only the United States, Republicans, conservatives and the right are “evil”; everyone else must be ok in his book.
At least this has prompted me to blog, here and now I pledge to blog once a week and post sometime on Saturday night. We will see how that goes as I have missed my first deadline by a little bit.

Charles D. Leibrand
March 1, 2008