Desperate for Blood in the Water

On Friday, I went to the Solidarity Singalong on the capitol steps. I've listened to the singalong quite a few times, but I'm not a regular singer at all. By that I mean I sing terribly, an atonal bumblebee best describes my singing voice. But today I went just for the fun of it and I had heard it was "March on Your Capitol Day" so I thought maybe there would be a large crowd. The Singalong was bigger than usual and they even had a band backing them this time, which was pretty cool.

I had gone with a friend from work and she was carrying her usual protest sign that says "Blame Wall Street." We're walking back, chatting, minding our own business (except for the sign, of course). When this lady in a blue Lexus SUV, probably early 2000s model, license plate 801SFK rolls up next to us.

This lady taunts from her rolled down car window, "I'm a Scott Walker fan, la, la la!" I turn around to look at the lady and she's got this wild-eyed look of anticipation on her face. She was wanting something for me and my work friend. You can always tell someone who wants a little piece of your ass and she was spoiling for a fight. One of the classic motorist versus pedestrian fights that are always high on rhetoric. Clearly she wanted to engage in a valuable debate on the merits of her ignorance and my righteousness.

Anyway, I freeze up. The only quick retort I supplied myself with was, "There's no accounting for taste," which doesn't make sense. So, being that I couldn't be clever enough, nor did I want to scream "Cunt!" at her (that wouldn't have been decent; however, a true statement, verily), I turned, rubbed my chin and shook my head. I'm kind of embarrassed to by the since of nerves I felt when she said that from the window and that I couldn't cook up of something better to say.

So, I keep going on my way. Then I hear from the blue Lexus SUV, "Hey, don't flip me off, asshole!"

Now, I'm a little surprised, being that I did not flip her off. Neither did my co-worker. Upon further review, my rubbing of my face must have been construed as flipping her off. Apparently, rubbing the side of one's face while thinking, "Man, I really should have shaved today" is the equivalent in some cultures or exurbs of Madison as flipping someone off. I don't flip people off sincerely. It's a pretty ridiculous gesture, don't you think? Look, it's my finger! Come on? That's offensive? It's a finger. I see fingers all the time. I've never been shocked at the sight a finger, particularly when still attached to a hand and in the appropriate slot for the finger length.

So I turn around, and there she is, the Lexus driver who just called me an asshole, flipping me off from her now rolled up window. Again she had that kind of froggy look in her eye where you know she just wanted me to do something. Give her a little shout, something. All I could do was just shake my head, laugh at her. And also write her license plate down. I won't do anything with it, though. But I did write it in my notebook in case she blew through a red light or sped or something illegal. Being a cunt in public isn't much of an offense in my book, so I needn't call the cops on her.

Anyway, she was so spoiling for someone to confront her for being a bitch she had to invent a reason to yell asshole at someone, anyone, that was a protester. I bet she rode a couple laps around the capitol to yell insults at the Solidarity Singalong people because...because...I don't know. To vent? To feel superior? Probably that last one. Bitches, man. Damn.

I've stewed on this for a day. It's pretty funny still, I think, but today I see that Wisconsin Supreme Court Justice Prosser (yes, the one that was just barely re-elected despite his asshole credentials) choked a fellow Supreme Court Justice during a heated argument. There is a conflicting story that says the choked Justice may have lunged at Prosser, which to me sounds a bit like the "she was asking for it" or the "she fell down the stairs" or "she ran right into the knife, 14 times, I swear" kind of defense...and the "lunging" story is attributable to one, unnamed source, who also said that no pressure was exerted during the choke hold. Now, I wonder which unnamed source would have the knowledge on the amount of pressure exerted in the choke hold AND have a reason to blame his actions on someone else...which I'm sure this "source" did before when he tried to blame the Chief Justice for when this source had to call her a "total bitch" and promised "to destroy" her.

And then there's the bit about how one of the Singalong people got battered by a Tea Party zealot.

I know what's going on here. People want to fight out their frustrations. Neither side wants to listen, so let's just fucking have it out. What a perfect time to allow concealed and carry legislation, right? Punching singers. Choking judges. My insignificant event. It's not enough that we're a divided state, and country, and will be for some time, I'm afraid, unless the revolution comes. This whole mess seems strangely orchestrated. The state gets catastrophically divided where you can't even buy beer or bratwurst without it being a political statement. So everyone is pissed and rather than maybe do something to stem the tide, be a little less of a prick, they ratchet things up more, to piss and divide everyone further. Then they pass a law making it cool to carry concealed guns pretty much wherever the hell we want. So we're an angry, armed populace, wanting so bad to get into a fight that we'll just make up reasons to do it, so long as we can feel justified in our contempt of this person. Doesn't it kind of feel that somebody, somewhere, for some reason sees this kind of division, hatred and potential violence as awesome, a great opportunity for something, so the pressure and divisiveness stays pedal down, just waiting for the first batch of firebombs to be tossed. I know, I know, put down the tinfoil hat. I'm in no way suggesting some grand conspiracy truly exists (that's insane), but it does feel strange to me, like there's some other game being played here that we're all not fully aware of or understand...which is a feeling I hate because it doesn't make sense and it's not a rational response. But how can anyone see all this, live through all this, and not have a response to want to change it, or compromise or something...unless all this vitriol is the desired response.

I don't know, man. After all, I don't have a Lexus SUV and I am, apparently, an asshole. Just please don't punch, choke or shoot me.

viva wisco

Why I Apologized to Russ Feingold

I met Russ Feingold recently. It was after his second visit to Walkerville, at which he gave a rousing speech about how it was the free trade agreements that started us to the path we have now economically, how corporate interests sully every level of our political system and how we should never, ever quit fighting. It was good speech. Check YouTube; it'll be on there someplace.

While others did crowd Russ to shake his hand or grab pictures after he left the podium, I hung back. Oh, I wanted to mix it up and I was there on the outskirts of the melee of people having him sign things, or sticking out their hand for a quick political grasp. It turned into a scrum, so I backed off. Hard to see the value of this kind of thing. That's not really meeting him, it's harassing. Plus, it is absurd that people do that to those we admire. What's the value of crushing in around people like that? It means nothing to them, little to you, and really nothing is accomplished. Evolutionarily, I wonder why we do it. Does getting closer and touching those we admire mean something to our lizard brain? What? To prove that maybe this thing we admire or like is a tangible thing so we must touch it to prove in our hearts that, yes, it truly exists? I don't know, and I'm off topic. Anyway, I didn't crowd the man.

Emily and I biked home from the event and we just lucked into Russ Feingold outside of a restaurant at downtown Madison. We stopped, talked for a second, shook his hand, and I apologized to him. It was a glorious moment, one that I'll remember for quite a while. Shame that I didn't get a picture with him, but that'll be for another time, if I'm lucky enough to meet him again.

I was stupid giddy about meeting him, too. I called my buddy Seth right afterwards and said, "Dude, I met fucking Russ Feingold! I shook his fucking hand!" I smiled for hours afterwards. The next morning, I couldn't wait to tell the people I worked with that I met Russ Feingold. I'm still surprised this happened.

Anyway, I told him that I was sorry that I did not campaign for him, that I only voted for him. I promised myself that I would apologize to him if I ever got the chance and, by god, I did it.

Now, why? Russ was going to lose in the election because of any number of forces lined up against him. There was probably nothing I could have done to reverse the outcome of this election, but the results bugged me just the same. It irritated me that so many people would vote against Feingold for...Christ, I still don't know why people voted against Feingold. They just did.

That sense of irritation is what bugged me though and stuck with me. If I was so irritated, so upset that Feingold lost, why didn't I do anything to stop it, or at least try to stop it? Even if I failed, which I probably would have, how much right to my feelings do I have if I made zero effort to produce a different outcome? None. I felt I had no right to complain, no right to feel this irritation, this loss, this anger of him losing because I didn't do shit about it. I could hold no claim to my indignation.

It seems silly, maybe. I am but one nervous and shy man, who still lacks the conviction for bold choices after all. I may not make much of a difference, but I can at least try in my own small, quiet way and own some responsibility to affect the changes I believe in.

That's why I apologized. He embodies what I want in a politician and what happens if not enough people care. I did not stand up or even try to stand up for what I believed in. It's embarrassing. Oh, I put a bumper sticker on my car, big deal. Have you ever had your mind changed with a bumper sticker with someone's last name and a number on it? I should hope not.

But that's why I am where I am now. All this stuff I'm doing. The phone banking. Chanting. Protesting. Boycotting. Donating. All of it all ties back to Russ Feingold losing that election because never again would I not at least try.

So, again, I'm sorry I let you (and myself) down in 2010, Russ Feingold. It won't happen again.

viva wisco

Because What's a Blog Without a Preamble Post and Acknowledging It

I've tried blogging a few times on a few platforms. Mustaches and weight loss preoccupied me mostly then, as they do now. I quit each time, disenchanted with the process of doing this, worrying about finding time to do it, and because I don't really find what I have to say required reading for anybody. I'm not a budding memoirist, nor do I feel compelled to share things about my uninteresting days because, frankly, they are uninteresting to me as well.

But I'm caught in this modern era of constant sharing combined with our own inflated sense of self, and also a desperate need to get some shit off my chest. So here I am.

As the title says, I'm here in Madison, Wisconsin, living through all the hoopla, upheaval, disappointment, disgust and joy of the protests here. By my reckoning, I've attended around 100 days worth of protesting. Carrying signs, taking pictures, taking videos. Screamed "Fox News lies!" as loud as I could during a live remote done by that propaganda machine. God help me, I own and operate a vuvuzela. I've collected recall signatures. I've phone banked. I've done it all save for sleeping in the capitol & the Walkervilles (yes, there were two).

However, I'm not all sunshine and lollipops about the protests, the movement or what have you. That's why I'm writing here, mostly. I'm trying to figure out why and what's keeping me from being some pinko socialist because, frankly, at times I feel like that's what I identify most anymore, and that in and of itself I find interesting because socialists I've seen and felt shamed into buying newspapers from make me uncomfortable (except John Nichols, he's all right). I've been radicalized by all the goings on in Madison, yet I'm only partly committed to my radical ways. The typical Christmas-and-Easter type of socialist you could say.

There's all that, plus, recently I went to a wedding. Yes, this will make sense. Not logical sense to you, but me, maybe, anyway, hang with this, a wedding was attended. During that time, I got to bro down with a couple friends I don't see often enough and we just bullshit pretty much non-stop about all kinds of useless stuff, but it was a blast. Like we talked for 15 minutes about why would Doc Ock, from the Spiderman comics, even create metal tentacles with the ability to go bananas, possess you and turn you into a super-villain man-robo octopus. Wouldn't you not program that into the thing? Seems like something you would, could and most definitely should avoid. So there will probably be a dose of that here (and some loving odes to bad music on Sundays), probably even some diversions into literature as well in between working shit out about the aforementioned political concerns (though hopefully that's not all I'll be doing)

To sum up, let me steal a line from Todd Snider to really encapsulate this current blogging venture: I didn't come down here to change any of your minds about anything, I come down here to ease my own mind about everything. Cheers, all.

viva wisco

Special note on my hypocrisy: Notice how in the first couple paragraphs I take a swipe at this current need to overshare and entitlement & enshrinement of our opinions...do you see how often I used the pronoun "I" in this whole post? Just noticed that myself...

Reload

Okay. Let's try this again.