Today is extraordinarily beautiful. Clear, sunny, somewhere in the Fahrenheit upper-fifties, which is approaching what we know as “perfect” on the Sims temperature scale.
I feel happier than I have felt in weeks.
I feel human.
It was about two miles of absolute wonder. The wind blew my hair (which is about 50% longer than it has been in a long time) in every direction. It’s just warm enough to comfortably wear sandals outside. Being as I am, vehemently opposed to socks, weather permitting the wearing of sandals in January approaches magical status.
Including several stops to lean on a rail and close my eyes, the stroll left my mind beautifully removed from my generally draining job in the restaurant industry for right at seventy minutes and currently continues to leave me calm and smiling, refusing to remove my iPod headphones even though I have the set of real speakers twenty inches from my hands.
Only a few days ago–and I’m unsure as to how I missed the boat on this one–I became wildly obsessed with Bon Iver. For Emma, Forever Ago provided the soundtrack to the first half of the walk, during which I strummed the strings on the strap of my camera bag and stepped in-time with Blindsided and Re: Stacks.
I drew some looks as I coasted down the sidewalks completely engrossed in my own strolling, musical, and, more than occasionally, eyes-closed adventure. It was either the strumming, the air drumming, or the arms-outstretched position. Or perhaps the hair, in desperate need of a cut and without any holding product, blowing in every direction. Whatever the reason, every look I drew solicited from me a response of a genuine smile and then, from the starer, a smile back. I wonder, now, where’d we get as a country if we just smiled at one another. There’s a lot of power behind a couple upturned mouth corners. A power with greater depth than I’m capable of articulating.
And speaking of that camera, it never left the bag. I never even made a motion toward it. It’s not that I was walking through a less-than-picturesque part of town (though I was). It’s not that I didn’t want to take pictures today. It’s simply that today was a day more for feeling and less for looking.
Feeling and listening. The wind blowing through my hair and Justin Vernon’s falsetto blowing through my ears.
What a magical hour. I remain in literal awe over what a difference those seventy minutes outside my apartment, outside of work, and outside my own mind made.
I must certainly do this more often.
You may have heard.
Some other quick observations concerning the inauguration. You may have noticed these as well.
A quick view into my psyche through my internal monologue during the broadcast:
This is really happening. I’m really still in shock about this? I suppose that’s alright. Am I too idealistic?
People are packed in for twenty city blocks. You’re not the only one who’s idealistic.
What makes my eyes well up like this? Why is this new form of patriotism effecting me so?
I think I liked the election day speech better.
I wonder what my friends in Europe are doing right now.
There are a lot of people walking around outside. I wonder how many of them voted for McCain. . . . . I wonder how many of them voted.
The snow is beautiful. Something about that beauty is appropriate.
_________________________________________________
One of my best friends, and one of my closest political confidants, is on a plane right now, headed to the West Coast to start a Master’s program in nuclear nonproliferation. I’m thinking about you, Sarah.
Yes, I am.
My time at the University of Kentucky ended and my self-discovery by personal definition by occupation journey faked to fake completion, I am a college-degreed waiter.
My emotions surrounding this situation vary by the day, if not the hour. It’s a job. It’s only rarely a bad job. Last Saturday (10/11), a double shift of fifteen and three-quarters hours put me the closest to a psychotic episode I’ve been since I returned from Vienna to my Lexington life and a pair of majors of which I should never have been within a country mile.
And so, my Lexington life continues, gathering ever more speed toward a Journalism Master’s, God willing.
It’s high time my ass was removed from its secure hiding place and put out there in a field I want to be in. In a field I care about. In a field that moves me, not a field that makes me want to pick up and move.
I almost did. Pick up and move, that is. For right at about sixteen days, a couple weeks after graduation, I was moving to Seattle with Jon. It was going to be a new life. A life away from this University, away from my college mistakes, away from whatever it is that I felt I’d become.
You’re reading this, I’ve referenced still living in Lexington. It’s obvious I didn’t go.
I got a pen and paper. I got a calculator. I got no sleep for three nights or so.
I got sense, then I got honest.
Running to the furthest point in the continental States wasn’t going to fix me. It was just going to bankrupt me. It wouldn’t erase anything except my checking account balance (which I do quite well on my own, thank you very much) and likely do the same to a couple incredibly important friendships.
And now I’m more honest with myself than I’ve been in a very long time.
That’s why I took the GRE; that’s why I’m applying to graduate Journalism schools.
And now I’m smiling more.
There have been more than a few times in my life where running away was most appealing.
I can never know what might have happened if I had moved to Seattle.
I’m more than alright with that. Few times in my life have I been more at peace with who I am.
That’s what has me smiling more.
Current musings: Jenny Lewis’s new solo record Acid Tongue.
Oh dear God this man is full of shit.
Now that the whole nominee thing is effectively squared away, we find good old Johnny McCain stumbling toward senility at every possible turn.
Saturday evening, the presumptive Republican Presidential Nominee declared, “I’ll admit to you that it’s tough, it’s tough in some respects.”
What’s tough, you ask? Senator McCain stuttered the above in response to the question, “How can I be proud of my country?”–a question asked by a man who noted he was educated at Princeton and earned over $300,000 annually.
I’m incredibly anxious to see how the media handles this one. It seems whatever Faux News can get their slimy little fingers on in order to somehow criticize Michelle Obama turns to Conservative hate gold. (‘Terrorist fist bump’ anyone? ‘Obama’s baby mama?’)
I expect at least 60% less coverage of McCain’s utterance than there was of Mrs. Obama’s “proud of my country” gaffe.
And while it might be difficult to totally disagree with Mr. McCain here, considering the atrocities occurring daily in the Middle East, the handling of the Gulf hurricanes last year, the treatment of our returning veterans, and so on and so forth, the fact remains that this is a man who cannot even remember what talking points he’s spewed this week.
Consider some of his yammering on Meet The Press (R.I.P. Mr. Russert) juxtaposed against his now-infamous comatose green-screen stump speech (bottled hot water to dehydrated babies, eh?) to a few hundred supporters (on the same night Senator Obama clinched the Democratic nomination and spoke to a crowd pushing 30,000).
What we have here is a failure to communicate. A consistent failure to communicate, that is.
A vote for John McCain is a vote for a man who can’t even position himself. And it’s a vote for a continued mess in these United States.
How can we be proud of our country? Vote for change.
I took the day off work in preparation for the vacation the Sims family leaves on tomorrow morning (laundry, etc.).
Well I did something this morning that isn’t really something I’d usually do, and that would be to turn on Joe Scarborough’s morning show on MSNBC. Well Joe’s absent today, with a man and woman whose names I cannot remember hosting in his place.
The big point is that former Presidential candidate and Democratic U.S. Senator (and Senate Foreign Relations Committee Chair) Joe Biden was on as one part of a two-headed response to Joe Lieberman’s yawn-worthy and frighteningly short-sighted op-ed piece on Barack Obama’s foreign policy.
Some highlights from Senator Biden’s Journal response:
At the heart of this [foreign policy] failure is an obsession with the “war on terrorism” that ignores larger forces shaping the world: the emergence of China, India, Russia and Europe; the spread of lethal weapons and dangerous diseases; uncertain supplies of energy, food and water; the persistence of poverty; ethnic animosities and state failures; a rapidly warming planet; the challenge to nation states from above and below.
Instead, Mr. Bush has turned a small number of radical groups that hate America into a 10-foot tall existential monster that dictates every move we make.
The election in November is a vital opportunity for America to start anew. That will require more than a great soldier. It will require a wise leader.
Here, the controversy over engaging Iran is especially instructive.
Last week, John McCain was very clear. He ruled out talking to Iran. He said that Barack Obama was “naïve and inexperienced” for advocating engagement; “What is it he wants to talk about?” he asked.
Well, for a start, Iran’s nuclear program, its support for Shiite militias in Iraq, and its patronage of Hezbollah in Lebanon and Hamas in Gaza.
Beyond bluster, how would Mr. McCain actually deal with these dangers? You either talk, you maintain the status quo, or you go to war. If Mr. McCain has ruled out talking, we’re stuck with an ineffectual policy or military strikes that could quickly spiral out of control.
President Nixon didn’t demand that China end military support to the Vietnamese killing Americans before meeting with Mao. President Reagan didn’t insist that the Soviets freeze their nuclear arsenal before sitting down with Mikhail Gorbachev. Even George W. Bush – whose initial disengagement allowed dangers to proliferate – didn’t demand that Libya relinquish its nuclear program, that North Korea give up its plutonium, or even that Iran stop aiding those attacking our soldiers in Iraq before authorizing talks.
The net effect of demanding preconditions that Iran rejects is this: We get no results and Iran gets closer to the bomb.
Equally unwise is the Bush-McCain fixation on regime change. The regime is abhorrent, but their logic defies comprehension: renounce the bomb – and when you do, we’re still going to take you down. The result is that Iran accelerated its efforts to produce fissile material.
The Bush-McCain saber rattling is the most self-defeating policy imaginable. It achieves nothing. But it forces Iranians who despise the regime to rally behind their leaders. And it spurs instability in the Middle East, which adds to the price of oil, with the proceeds going right from American wallets into Tehran’s pockets.
The worst nightmare for a regime that thrives on tension with America is an America ready, willing and able to engage. Since when has talking removed the word “no” from our vocabulary?
It’s amazing how little faith George Bush, Joe Lieberman and John McCain have in themselves – and in America.
Along with this excellently-written piece, Mr. Biden floored me this morning with his outstanding verbal repudiation of Mr. Lieberman’s barely-veiled John McCain stump piece. And not only did he eloquently and firmly shame Mr. Lieberman, he firmly planted himself in my heart with a comment about Mr. McCain’s attacks on Mr. Obama.
Mr. Biden called out Mr. McCain on his persistent use of logical fallacies in his attempts to discount Mr. Obama’s experience. He specifically cited the argumentum ad hominem fallacy, and in doing so, impressed me greatly as the only one who will say it.
For about a year now, I’ve strongly wondered if I couldn’t make a decent living as a pundit who does nothing but point out all the fallacious arguments politicians employ throughout campaigns, debates, or whatever it is that they happen to be doing. Thank you for the encouragement, Mr. Biden.
The last few weeks have seen Mr. Biden very obviously inserting himself into the public realm, ostensibly campaigning for a high-powered role in the Obama campaign and (hopefully) the eventual Obama Presidency.
I want Joe Biden as Vice President.
He nullifies any inexperience argument–foreign policy, economic or otherwise. His message throughout his nomination campaign and afterward has been similar to Mr. Obama’s message of change–he spent much of his time this morning describing our absolute necessity for “conduct change.” He’s an excellent debater–something Mr. Obama could admittedly use some advice on.
I don’t know how long Mrs. Clinton will hang around, if it’s to the convention or if she’ll bow out beforehand, but it’s very obvious that the Obama campaign has aimed themselves toward the general election.
Mr. Obama’s running mate will prove to be a most important choice. Joe Biden would be a tremendous choice for this nation.
. . . it looks like we have a Democratic Presidential Nominee.
I haven’t been exactly open here as to who I’ve supported, but after Dennis Kucinich gave up the fight, I shifted my support and attention to Barack Obama. He wasn’t the most typically progressive candidate left in the race (that was John Edwards, whose positions I generally supported, if not his fundraising methods).
But he became the most progressive candidate for me.
It’s the ability to motivate people. College students, elderly couples, anyone. Democrats, especially newly-registered Democrats, are out in force this primary season. And those newly-registered Democrats vote strongly in favor of Senator Obama.
It’s the speeches filled with something other than the typical.
It goes even to the Reverend Wright debacle (about which I couldn’t care less, frankly, and which got more ridiculous media coverage than just about anything deserves). Such aplomb, such candor.
Now that’s not to say I fully agree with everything Mr. Obama has to say. He’s not the perfect candidate for me.
But he just might be the perfect candidate for the United States right now.
The upshot to this long and arduous primary season has been the thousands upon thousands of more voters, more new voters, and more people excited for their respective candidate than I’ve seen in my (notably short) lifetime.
And the majority of that bustle of voters has pointed its efforts toward Mr. Obama. Not in my 21 years has a candidate removed more asses from desk chairs and put those asses in polling places.
It was during the Iowa Caucuses I first began to really admire the pull of Mr. Obama’s message. In a fascinating display of the nearest thing we have to direct democracy in this nation, motivated caucus-goers pulled others to the Obama camp, forwarding a message of hope, a message of change.
And now it’s Obama vs. McCain.
You know who I’m supporting. Support your candidate.
Vote. Vote. Vote.
Driving back from Target today (I bought a super-hippie-style soy wax Eucalyptus/Patchouli candle), I popped in Mike Doughty’s newest record Golden Delicious, which, incidentally, I can bring myself neither to love nor to completely write off.
And one of the main reasons I can’t write it off is the album’s opening track, Fort Hood, a tear-jerking protest song about the Army base that’s lost the most soldiers in this tear-jerking war we’re stuck in. In the process of pondering how Mike can deliver the lines he does in this song–and that’s how he’s able to deliver them, like, without crying–I very nearly caused a disastrous multi-car wreck by totally missing a red light and skidding into crossing traffic, missing a Ford Explorer by only inches as I slid through the cold wet, brakes locked.
Following that near-miss, my adrenaline-fired heart pumped me straight into a serious fit of emotion and when the line:
I see ‘em coming back
Motionless in an airport lounge
hit. That’s when I started thinking about protest songs–and my favorite protest songs.
I love, clichéd though it may be, the preeminent Vietnam War protest song, the masterful Bob Dylan’s Blowin’ in the Wind.
How many times will the cannonballs fly
Before they’re forever banned?
Per usual, Bob says it better than I can say it, and for that matter, better than most anyone can say it.
The protest song is something ultimately special. So pure, so guttural; so much bigger than he or she who writes it, so much stronger than he or she who sings it; so beautiful in its belief that music can spur change. From Marvin Gaye pleading that we “bring some understanding here today” to Jimi Hendrix’s passionate, irreverent electric guitar rendition of The Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock, filled with bombs, propellers and screams, the form doesn’t matter. The message matters.
So there’s all I can muster for Round One. Help me here. The more we listen, the more we can all find the energy to fight.
Get up, stand up. Stand up for your rights.
Five years at 365 days/year+5 days+1 Leap Day=1831 days of War.
In those 1831 days, 4000 U.S. Soldiers Killed in Iraq.
A little division:
4000 killed/1826 days=2.1845 U.S. Soldiers killed, on average, every single day.
So there’s that. Something to think about.
Five years in Iraq.
I started with a massive bitch session right here. Then I deleted it. And now I’m at a loss for what to say. I opened the Huffington Post home page yesterday afternoon and read that big, red text that says:
3,990 US Troops Killed… 29,395 Wounded… 2,100 Have Tried To Commit Suicide… 88% Of Military Officers Say War Has Stretched US Thin… 82,000-89,000 Iraqi Casualties… 4,500,000 Iraqi Refugees… Global Terror Incidents From January 2001: 1,188… Global Terror Incidents From January 2006: 5,188
And another little piece of me died.
Yeah, sometimes I cry.
I cry for those who are dying, those who will die, those whose families will never again see the faces of their loved ones.
And I cry for all of us. All of us who sit at home in the States, turn on the evening news and watch the night’s Iraq War report with frozen faces and disconnected minds. All of us who hear it and it doesn’t register, all of us who see it and don’t feel what we felt anymore. All of us who are furious but fed up. All of us who the Vice President just threw right the hell under the bus.
Thing is, yesterday, when I read the above headline, I didn’t cry. It was like it meant nothing. Just big, red words. Just big, red words, screaming out but finding nothing but deaf ears–or worse still, ears that once heard but are now closed in a self-defense sort of deafness. Those are my ears.
And right then, the Vice President’s bus hit me.