I was listening to the radio the other day. No, this is not another song-themed post. I was actually listening to talk radio, which I do from time to time.
They played a quote from David Carr, who writes for Time magazine or the New York Times or something like that. He said, "...but if it's Missouri or Kansas, or you know, it's the dance of the low-sloping foreheads you know? The middle places..."
He said this on Bill Mar's show. I know I spelled his name wrong, I just like it when the name is appropriate, like Anthony Weiner. I also like it when the name is ironically inappropriate, as in the case of Barney Frank.
At first I giggled a little. It was a good line. Funny, creative, rolled off the tongue nicely. It had a certain melody to it. Then I thouight, "Hey, he's talking about me." No, I don't live in Missouri or Kansas, but I do live in flyover country. I actually refer to people from Indiana as swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool, but it's okay if I say it. I'm not a liberal elitist snob. I just say it because it's funny to me.
This Carr character, who later apologized for the comment, not accepted by the way, is also originally from flyover country. He took great pains to explain this fact as he made his apology. He may have forgotten his roots because he was educated in the finest institutions in the land. I don't know squat about him, but I'd guess Harvard, Princeton, Yale, Brown, something like that.
One thing I've learned is that it doesn't matter where you went to school. What matters is what you learn while you're there. The most important thing, in my opinion, is to learn the ability to think for yourself. To form your own opinions based on what seems right to you, after researching both sides of the issue. That's why I slog through crap like Krugman and Zakaria and Chomsky (actually, Chomsky pretty much a genius, and I like him, and I hate him for it because he's still an elitist snob).
I want to be able to argue either side of any issue intelligently, depending on who I want to piss off at any particular time. The only way to do that is to learn the arguments that both sides make, think about them just a little bit, and come up with some ideas of your own on the subject.
This is what the idealogues on the left and the right will never understand. It's like they all think with one brain. They yell and shout out the same tired old talking points to the same tired audience, time after time, and then wonder why no one listens to them.
The dance of the low sloping foreheads comment makes me want to hunt this knucklehead down, beat him over the head with a club, drag him by his silver ponytail back to my cave, and feed him to my pet dinosaur. Instead I will point out to him, and to others like him, that there are universities outside of the Ivy League. There are places that, while they may not have the same manners, traditions, and social customs as yours, are inhabited by intelligent, thoughtful people that may just happen to disagree with your vision for the future of humanity.
In the words of Richard from Tommy Boy, "There are 2 kinds of smart. Book smart, which waved bye-bye to you a long time ago, and then there's street smart, the ability to read people..." If I'm looking for someone to theorize about the best possible solutions to problems in order to create a utopian society, I'll go with book smart. If I'm looking for someone that I can actually trust to implement public policy that will affect all of us, something that may not be the best solution, but at least takes everyone's ideas into account, I'll go with street smart every time.

"When you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it's time to go."
That's a line from the song "Tourist" by Deathcab For Cutie. Quick sidenote, Deathcab For Cutie is the greatest name for a rock band since Green Apple Quickstep. It's not even up for debate.
I recently went home for a long weekend. Is it weird that I still consider it home when I've been in Indiana for almost 3 years? It is what it is, I guess. Indiana, though not a bad place to live, will never be my home. For one thing, the food is terrible. Food is very important to me. I like to eat. The Red Sox are also very rarely available on television. This is actually more important than the food issue. Finally, my entire family is back east. I miss them a lot. You never realize how important some things are until they aren't anymore.
That being said, this last trip was a little strange. Something didn't feel quite right. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe it's true that you can't go home again. Or, as Stephen King says, "Home is the place where, when you have to go back, they have to kill you." That's not as creepy as it sounds. It's really supposed to be some kind of metaphor. The reason it's important to leave your comfort zone is that it is impossible to grow as a person with the restraints put upon you by familiar surroundings. When you don't have the opportunity to experience new things, it's almost like a prolonged catatonic state. Challenges that you may confront are avoided for the simple comforts of a friendly and familiar smile. Leaving the nest irrevocably changes a person. Not saying that it's good or bad, it just does.
I never felt really comfortable in Massachusetts this time. It still looked like home. It smelled like home. I saw my parents and my sister and all my in-laws, who seem to have, for some reason, taking a liking to me. Something just didn't feel kosher. Maybe it's because we weren't there for long enough. Maybe it's because we've been gone too long. Maybe it's because we've romanticized home to the point where the reality can never live up to the expectation. Who knows.
The point is, I felt like a tourist, when I should have felt at home. This can mean one of two things. Either I am done with Mass. for good, or I need to get the hell out of Indiana, and fast, before it's too late.
I still carry the east coast with me. My accent is as strong, if not stronger than it used to be. I still religiously follow the Sox and the Celts and the Pats and the B's. I still read the Herald, the only paper in Boston by the way, Pravda doesn't count, even if they do own part of the Red Sox. I miss the food. I miss Dunkin Donuts on every street corner. I miss the radio stations and sports on tv. I miss my family and friends. I don't miss the politics, or the fact that we were always broke. Not that we're not always broke now, or that I like the politics in Indiana, but it's a little bit easier here than there.
It felt strange driving through the town I used to live in. Everything seemed familiar, and yet foreign. Some things had changed that I didn't even notice until they were pointed out to me. New buildings, different stores, things that you don't even notice unless you're paying attention, and maybe that's just it. Maybe, when I wasn't paying attention, everything changed. Or more likely, I did.
I think that everyone fells a certain disconnect when surrounded by strangeness. Maslow says that people are either able to cope with it, unable to cope with it, or they relish the challenge. Some people find excitement in change, others fear change, and still others simply accept it as a part of life. I haven't figured out where I fit in yet. Either in Mass. or Indiana, or in Maslows heirarchy of personalities, but I will at some point.
I will be home next month. This time I will be bringing the entire family, which is my entire life. I know one thing, wherever they are, my heart is, and that's as good as home to me. I will see then what's more important to me... where I am, or who I am there with. Many questions will be answered, but what will it change? Probably nothing, maybe something, maybe just me.

"New Low" for the middle class

I listen to the radio a lot. Out here in the midwest there are two types of radio stations, country, and crap. That is assuming there is a difference between the two. There is one station that plays pretty decent music, though it is one of those that seems to have a playlist of about twenty songs, played over and over in a somewhat different order. Occasionally they throw in a new one. One of the new ones I heard over the last year, and that have made it into the regular rotation, is "New Low" by a band called Middle Class Rut. It's a good song. But it got me thinking about the middle class.
What exactly is the middle class? Does it really exist? It seems as though the only time it's even mentioned is by politicians or their cronies trying to drum up support for one campaign or another. "I'm looking out for the middle class" say countless leaders who are, in reality, looking out for themselves and trying to get into your wallets.
I am about as middle as they come. I am the middle child of a middle income family, living in the middle of the country, middle of the road politically (although I would probably be considered a fascist by many due to my ideas on the proper size and role of the federal government, which would be funny if it wasn't so sad), creeping up on middle income as I make my way through middle age. Am I average? No. If I'm not an average American, is there any such thing as an average American? I'm not sure that there is.
The chorus of the song, such as it is, goes like this "I feel right, I feel left, I feel wrong, I feel left behind. I feel up but mostly down." Describes a lot of people that would be considered middle class ar average, doesn't it? We are all trying to slog our way through our lives, paying bills, working, attempting to find a balance between what is necessary and important, and what may be considered frivolous or enjoyable. But the frivolity is necessary, if only to recharge our brains for the droll and mundane. We all spend a lot of time living in our own heads, dreaming our own dreams, imagining our lives in another frame or reality.
We are all, I think, Walter Mitty. I haven't read the story in decades, but I remember it because it seemed to describe me in some way. Mitty would escape into fantasy in order to lessen the burden of an otherwise unhappy life. I also remember it because it was the first time, but not the last, that I thought that maybe I was smarter than my teacher. She claimed that Mitty was preparing to kill himself. That all this fantasizing and dreaming was unhealthy in some way. I felt that it was entirely healthy and a natural reaction to his circumstance. He felt trapped and frightened by what his life had become, so he invented different scenarios in order to cope with it. It probably would have been healthier for him to just change his life, but he was so adapted to convention that it was impossible for him.
This is acculturation at it's most extreme. Most of us are held back by convention and cultural restraints. In many cases it is a good thing. You don't go to the grocery store in your underwear, unless, of course, you're in really, really good shape. Our culture demands that we wear pants. There are many ways that cultural convention can hold us back if we let it. We are taught by our elders to fit in at all costs. To be like everyone else, at least outwardly, so we need to turn inward to satisfy our individuality. Some of us break free of these restraints to do great things. Some of us never manage, and our imaginations are forced to help us cope with our shortcomings. I think to some degree we all do this, not only because our lives are unhappy, mine isn't, and never really was, except for the periods of time in which I made stupid decisions and caused my own sort of doom spiral, but because we are human beings.
We dream because we are human. It is part of the human condition to yearn for something more, something better, something else. That is probably why catchphrases such as "Hope and change" act as magical mantras on the minds of so many so-called average Americans. We want hope, we want change, we want more. This is what separates us from animals. The desire to create, to enjoy, to have leisure time and freedom.
We, as a nation, for the most part, don't need to worry about where our next meal is coming from. Our economic system has provided the greatest amount of wealth in the history of humanity. This wealth is spread out, in spite of what some people insist on claiming, among all of us. Not equally, that is true, maybe because we are not all equally equipped or inclined to take the necessary steps to provide for our own needs. This widespread wealth allows us the opportunity to seek out other gratifications, to improve our own situations.
So, is there such a thing as an average American, or middle class? Only in reference to campaign slogans and punchlines at elitist cocktail parties. Other than that, there are only Americans. We are all in this together. In spite of the efforts of some to make everything a war between the rich and the poor, or the middle against the extremes, there remain only Americans. We have been given the gift of freedom. That great gift comes with great responsibility. We are required to shape our own lives in the manner that we see fit, and then live with the consequences. Through it all, during good times and bad, we all look for something more, we all dream about something better or different. We are the catalysts for hope and change, not some unctious politician. We dream and then we create. In doing so we create a better life for ourselves, our families, and our nation.
The longest journey begins with the first step, and the first step to progress is a vision, a dream, a goal, something that begins in our minds and then is made into reality through hard work and perserverance. By improving our own lives, we improve the lives of those around us. Self-interest, to paraphrase Adam Smith, is the driving force behind the progress of individuals, communities, and nations. The greatest advances in society have been provided by so-called average citizens that have risen above convention and created. It all starts with a dream.