Yes, I take it personally. How in hell can I not? How can I think about a group of people who have lied to me, said they don't care if people poison my water and air for profit, said they don't care about making the world better, said that I'm a traitor and un-American for opposing them…how can I not take it personally?
I really thought there'd be this Big Brass Band moment when I asked Anne to marry me. I thought there'd be explosions of light and choirs of angels belting out Handel's Greatest Hits. I thought there'd be this great moment when my entire point of view shifted in some way.
There was none of that. There was just Anne, and that's all I need.
If there was anything that made me weep for American manhood, it was those goddamn Spawn action figures that cropped up in every game geek's cubicle over the past five or six years. Yes, they were pretty, and they were cool, but action figures are meant to be hauled outside, thrown around the sand box and melted with magnifying glasses. They are meant to be played with, not to be desk sculpture. When you are in your twenties, you should be out drinking beer, reciting poetry, and chasing girls. You should not be spending your hard-earned money on toys that do nothing but sit there. (I got no problem with adults buying toys. In fact, I'm all for it. Being an adult means you have more money and can blow it on toys that do possibly dangerous things. Plus, you can pay for health insurance.) I had plenty of junk on my desks, but I think having Legos sitting around is quite different from having Medieval Spawn Variant Number Six perched on top of your monitor.
My opinion of these chunks of plastic and their creator, Todd McFarlane, hasn't gotten much better. If anything, MacFarlane Toys' product line has gone from Slightly Weird to Sweet Baby Jebus Call The Men With The Straightjackets Now. Take a look at their website (no, I'm not going to give 'em a link; they have enough traffic already) and hunt around for the Twisted World of OZ line of action figures, and tell me the designers aren't in need of some serious counseling. Put the sculpting tools down, Todd, and step back.
I imagine it's only a matter of time before Todd & Co get it into their heads that history needs a dose of its “twisted” point of view. I shudder to think what the McFarlane “Twisted Canadian History” line will look like after they get their mitts on poor John A. Macdonald.
I need to remember this: stomping trolls on webboards does not count as meaningful campaign work. It is merely a distraction.
I started my own work as precinct leader by making 60 cold calls on Sunday to Dean people who said they'd like to be volunteers. Most weren't home, some said they couldn't commit to anything until after the New Year, and the rest were stoked about hitting the streets. That made it worthwhile. The more I read Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72, the more I'm convinced that this precinct work is gonna pay off. McGovern (ooo, there I go, bringing up that forbidden name from the past, ooo) won key states with an army of volunteers making phone calls and knocking on doors and leaving literature behind. This shit makes a difference, as cornball as it seems. The difference between '72 and '03 is that we have better tools for organizing data. In '72, they had to use hand-written index cards to record supporting votes; today, we got the magic of MySQL (and, yes, Sam, I'm pronouncing it the right way now). Project for Whistler down-time: building a web interface and MySQL backbone for precinct work or just looking to see if there's already something out there. This will be better than sending Excel spreadsheets back and forth. Jebus.
The tough part is keeping heart and mind in balance. Pure intellect can hash through any problem, but it needs the warmth of heart to make that solution humane. The fire of passion can get people off their cans, but it takes the cool light of mind to give that passion focus.
Neither, of course, should have a problem with a bit of Googlehacking mischief.
“Every little bit helps,” said the old lady as she pissed into the sea.
I've made progress, and I've fallen behind. I've learned some things and forgotten others. I've been in despair and see signs of hope. I'm at the bottom of the gutter and I'm looking up at the stars. Tonight I am done with contemplating the awful could-be and begin planning the wondrous will-be. Anger is hope turned on its ear. The possibilities are limitless as long as I remember where to start. One foot in front of the next, one pedal stroke after another, one carve after another gets me down the mountain so I can do it all over again. There's no second turn on this ride, baby; I need to do it all on this run, and this run only. Look out tomorrow; I'm going to meet you with a full stomach and an open heart.
Went to see Warren Miller's Journey last night. Woof. It's snowporn, plain and simple, and I walked away feeling amped about this season. I know I'll never be a boarder of the same caliber as the people in that movie, but you know what? That's okay. I get as much juice out of a perfect S-turn as these guys do riding down sheer mountain faces in the Alps. Snow is snow, and I'm stoked.
