Generation X-tian

Born at the tail end of Generation X, I recognize many of the traits often associated with the generation in my own life—the ironic attitude, cynical nature, bitter realism and the refusal to take myself or anyone else seriously. Perhaps nothing captures the true essence of this generation—my generation—like Richard Linklater’s movie Slacker.  Released in 1991, the movie chronicles the lives of roughly one hundred X’ers on the streets of Austin, presented in the form of brief vignettes, connected by intermingling characters. There is no plot, per se, and most of the dialogue is improvised. Instead, Linklater expresses the frustration, fears and truths of a generation by examining the most mundane activities of life.

 

In one scene, a young couple walks the streets of Austin on their way to an afternoon movie. As they walk, they pass a beggar on the streets. The young woman offers the beggar some change and Diet Coke. As the couple turns the corner, the young man expresses his frustration, “You know, there’s something very wrong with that.” The lady, obviously a bit taken back, inquires whether her date refers to offering the beggar change or a soft drink laden with possible carcinogens like NutraSweet.

 

The young man confirms that not only was he referring to both the soda and the money, but that the action was bad for the beggar and the giver. “Him because it’s not really gonna help him. And you because that relationship is naturally going to involve that condescending element, maybe even contempt.”

 

The two continue to walk and continue to talk—the lady admitting that a couple of nickels won’t have a tremendous impact on the beggars life and the young man stating that the lady’s compassion prohibits her from realizing the beggars true “potential”, before he finally issues his thesis, accusing her of being chained to a “slave morality.”

 

“But it’s like all these other futile causes that you fall into. They all stem from a certain weakness.  You know, psychologically helping everyone else out is easier.  It’s an escape from working on yourself, from perfecting yourself.”

 

I’ll admit that I’m partially drawn to this scene because of it’s not so subtle reference to Nietzsche, but also because I think it’s a perfect illustration of the schism between the “belief centered Christianity” and the “transformation centered Christianity” of the Left. Indeed, we could draw direct comparisons between these often conflicting disciplines of Christianity and of Nietzsche’s “master” and “slave” moralities.

 

As many of you know, I grew up in a traditional United Methodist Church, focused on traditional, “belief centered” Christian values. God created Heaven and Earth. Humans were a fallen race. Jesus was born of a Virgin, died on cross and rose from the dead, so that we were a fallen race with hope. In high school, I felt God’s call in my life, devoted myself to the ministry of Jesus Christ and became enamored with the charismatic movement in the Christian church, specifically its roots in the Holiness movement and the Methodism. I go off to college, lose my faith, and became a liberal and agnostic.

 

Somewhere along the way, I reconnected with God and He revealed Himself to me in new ways. As I started returning to Christianity, I noticed the entire landscape had changed in about five years. When I began to lose my faith in the late 90’s, the charismatic movement dominated Christian culture. The “Toronto Blessing” and revivals in places like Brownsville Assembly of God in Pensacola, Florida, pointed towards a “Third Great Awakening” within the Christian church, preparing the world for the eminent return of Jesus Christ.

 

Imagine my surprise when I return to find the Christian culture now dominated by “Christian spiritualists.” Similar to the “Jesus movement” of the 60’s and 70’s, this new wave Christianity promised a mixture of the feel good idealism of the Left and the evangelism of the Right. This new group went by several names, “emergents”, “New Monastics”, “Red Letter Christians”, anything to distance themselves from the more conservative, Christian traditionalists. Now, I’ve written extensively about these people in the past, but let me stress the first thing that stood out to me about this group was their “group think” and use of talking points—post modernism, rejection of labels and, yes, social justice.

 

It was obvious why the term “post modern Christianity” offended me. The term suggested that somehow the Christianity that existed for 2,000 years was no longer relevant to the lives and must change, not evolve, radically in order to survive. For some reason, the “social justice” label bothered me even more. Like any moral human, I desired to help others. Throughout the Bible, I saw commandments to believers to assist those in need and I longed to do my part to make the world a better place with less hunger and less poverty.  I read the Bible and believed that, “as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead. (James 2:26)”.

 

Ironically, I relied partially on my knowledge of Nietzsche, one of the harshest critics of Christianity in Western thought, to expose the fallacies of the “social justice” argument. I reflected on the scene from Slacker that I described above. In this instance, the girl represented the new wave, Christian Marxists, devoted to “social justice”, chained to slave morality and the guy represents the Christian traditionalist or, in Nietzsche’s world, master morality, except unlike Nietzsche’s version, this is a Divinely inspired, not a man made philosophy.

 

As such, I think what the guy says conveys a relevant message for us all. The “social justice” of the new wave Christian, of the girl, involves going out giving money to the poor, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, regardless of the situation. We must put change in the coffers of the beggar. Very little, if any, thought goes to the beggar’s spiritual state or the cause of his poverty. The Christian traditionalist looks at the beggar and seeks to first address the obvious needs—clothing, food, shelter—but in the process reach out and witness to the beggar and bring him into a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The Christian traditionalist realizes the awesome, transforming power of Jesus Christ, and realizes that once the beggar is saved he will be well on his way to breaking the poverty cycle. Instead of constantly giving hand outs to the beggar, the redeemed beggar learns from the Christian traditionalist how to become a contributing member of society and starts to earn an honest living. In other words, it goes back to the old saying, “Give a man a fish, feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, feed him for a lifetime.”

 

Why does the new wave Christian insist on giving as opposed to teaching? Simply put, it is easier. Anyone can give. Giving is easy and it serves as a good masking agent for guilt. However, it is hard to come to terms with some of the truths of Christianity. It’s hard to accept the fact that “original sin” exists. It’s hard to accept the fact that we need to be redeemed. It’s hard to accept the fact that God so loved the world, He gave His only Son to die for this redemption. It’s hard to understand the renewing of the mind and spirit we experience once Christ comes into our lives, a renewing that will eventually lead to our perfection—not here, but on God’s celestial shores(Romans 12:2). It’s hard to accept the fact that those around who refuse to believe that Jesus is indeed the only way to God live in sin. It’s hard to look at the lives of those close to us and realize that certain aspects of their life may be incompatible with Christianity. It’s hard to look at our own lives and realize that certain aspects may be incompatible with Christianity.

 

Indeed, Christianity is hard! The guilt of being a sinner and falling short of the Glory of God is nothing new. Paul writes about the experience extensively. What is new are the methods man will invent to cope with this guilt. We have a choice. We can accept Jesus as the Jesus of the Bible, trust in Him, have faith in Him, and believe that He will help us carry our cross. Or, we can pervert Christianity to fit our modern times. Modern man often chooses to fight guilt by using the almighty dollar or seeks to use political power to legislate their view of morality.

 

I remember vividly a sermon from UMYF. Our youth pastor preached a sermon entitled, “Generation X Christian”. His entire sermon focused on the use of the letter “X” to represent Christ in popular culture (e.g. X-mas, etc.) and how we had the power to make Generation X, a true Generation of “X” (i.e. a generation of Christ). We were well on our way as well, but somewhere along the way, the poison that is secular humanism seeped into the evangelical wing of the Protestant church and distorted our vision of the Christian faith, chaining us to the “slave morality” that Nietzsche spoke of, and giving credence to the teachings I have heard regarding “false teachers of Christ” since I was a child.

 

Indeed, I remember from my earliest days in Sunday school, teachers warning us about a brand of Christianity that “sounded good”, but was void of Christ. I look at the church today, specifically the United Methodist Church, and certain leaders who wish to pollute it with secular humanism. I look on this board and I see people who are literally offended by the story of Christ and the hymns of faith. Every time I question these people, they throw one term back in my face—“social justice”. The church needs to focus more on “social justice” and less on evangelizing. The church’s top priority should be “social justice.” I hear the word “social justice” and I all think about is pride—the folly of these secularists, to believe that we humans have the power to bring about “social justice.” Justice will be served once every knee bows and every tongues confesses that Jesus Christ is Lord. Until then, the best that we can do is to lead others to Christ, show love to our neighbors and pray for those in need.

 

 

Unhappy Earth Day

One thing that has remained constant with me through my liberal and conservative days is my bewilderment with “yuppies.” True, as a conservative, I can stomach them a little more since their voting record tends to lean more to the right. However, such is not the case in 2008, as Barry Obama appears to be stealing some of these voters.

 

Why?

 

Well, the “yuppie” tends to be easily swayed by fads and there is not a bigger fad right now than Obama. Combine that with some carefully crafted rhetoric and a whole lot of “white guilt” and you have a perfect recipe for a Barry H. Obama voter. He crafts his speeches to include language specifically geared toward the “yuppie” voter—vague words like “change” and “hope”—give meaning to an other wise philistine lifestyle the “yuppie” feels like they are making a positive contribution to society.

 

Perhaps no other movement has duped “yuppies” more than “global warming” and matters of “personal health.” It’s Earth Day 2008, what better time to examine the role of a dubious science in courting the “yuppie” vote, not only on the national level, but on the local level as well. It is a tale full of sound and fury and all sorts of sordid characters.

 

Let’s begin with these characters, for it is their unholy alliance, not any real or perceived catastrophe, which has catapulted these issues to the front pages of our newspapers and as a major talking point on the cable news networks. In short, you have a group of opportunist politicians (i.e. Al Gore) who provide the power and political clout, the enviro-fasicists that constitute the “Big Weather” advocacy group and the yuppies who provide funding either directly, by donating to radical groups or politicians, or indirectly, by buying Big Weather’s merchandise (i.e. “environmentally friendly products”, mercury laden “energy efficient” light bulbs, etc.).

 

Now I don’t blame the Yuppie. The Yuppie life may be one I don’t completely understand, but I do think that most Yuppie’s have good intentions; many are just naïve and a tad bit gullible. They are truly a product of their environment. When you grow up in behind the thick, brick walls of sheltered suburban communities, you miss out on a lot of life, including a good dose of street smarts. If someone tries to sell them something and they present it with flowery language, citing scholarly and scientific studies, the Yuppie is inclined to accept and believe without question. Indeed, the Yuppie is the victim in this con.

 

Besides naivety, trying to keep up with the Joneses is probably the Yuppie’s biggest weakness. If they see that their neighbor is driving a hybrid, they’re going to want a hybrid. If Oprah tells them that they should be organic, well damnit, she is Oprah and she must know what she’s talking about. If everyone else in the gated community becomes obsessed with their carbon footprint, then of course you’re going to feel pressured to obsess over your own carbon footprint or else you might be asked to quit the Junior League.

 

Not only are they being conned and pressured, there is also an element of fear involved. I remember a “progressive” teacher I had in fifth grade. She taught us all about Earth Day, pollution, the green house effect and a little thing called “acid rain.” She made us listen to the song “Channel Z” (Google the lyrics) by the B-52’s, to reinforce the harm that each and everyone of us were doing to this great planet Earth. I felt especially bad since I lived 30 miles away from the school, but hey, at least we car pooled.  This was in 1990, I can only imagine how bad things must be now for kids.

 

You know how the story goes. The kid comes home from school, shares the story his teacher taught him and tells his parents how upset the whole thing makes him. Yuppies are protective, overly protective of their progeny and if it upset their kids they must do something about it. The Yuppie parent feels compelled to alter their lifestyle, drastically, all because of propaganda being preached by a socialist teacher.

 

But the fear and anxiety is not limited to the kids. Over the course of the past week, I’ve learned a new term—“eco-anxiety”. It is exactly what it sounds like, anxiety brought on by the fear that one is bringing on the end of the world by their lifestyle. There are people out there who are so sucked into this con, that they literally worry themselves sick about their carbon footprint and whether or not their life is “green” enough. I can say with almost 99% certainty that a majority of the people who “suffer” from “eco-anxiety” are Yuppies. In other communities, there are too many legitimate worries to concern one’s self with than Marxist propaganda.

 

It’s easy to see why some Yuppies might have some fears, you have eco-fascists like Ted Turner, pushing the issue even further. A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Turner appeared on the Charlie Rose program on PBS. When pressed about “global warming”, Mr. Turner had this to say, ““We’ll be eight degrees hotter in 30 or 40 years and basically none of the crops will grow. Most of the people will have died and the rest of us will be cannibals. Civilization will have broken down. The few people left will be living in a failed state — like Somalia or Sudan — and living conditions will be intolerable.”

 

Fear is exactly the angle that Big Weather and the liberal politicians are aiming for, because with fear, people are willing to trade away freedom and liberty in order to achieve safety. This means more power for the politician, a fact not lost on European and American socialists, whose ultimate goal is to strip citizens of all their freedoms and convert us all to followers of the church of government. Al Gore doesn’t give a damn about the Earth or the Earth’s environment. Al Gore wants power(and money) and so he grows a beard (every great scholar needs a beard) and makes a Power Point presentation on pollution and polar bears and every suburban community in America is fighting to become the “greenest” of them all. Gore has had such an effect on the Yuppies view of environment that now even the Bush administration has to change their positions on the issue.

 

You see, when Yuppies get upset, not only do they talk with actions, but also with their pocket books. They will donate to the campaigns of candidates who talk about these issues (i.e. Obama) and they will buy any piece of shit with the words “green” or “organic” emblazoned on it. This serves to benefit not only the politician, but also the radicals who make up Big Weather.

 

So, I’ve come to wish you an unhappy Earth Day, because it’s evil and it’s a lie. It’s time that we all recognize the “global warming” con for what it is—a power trip for opportunistic politicians and eco-fascists that make up Big Weather. I urge each and every one of you to embrace your carbon footprint on this Earth Day—love it and nurture it. At the end of the day, come back here and share with all the readers of this blog what your carbon footprint was for the day. There’s a chance prizes will be awarded for the highest carbon footprint. Until then, this is the Conservative Hipster, reminding you to have a great day, but an unhappy Earth Day.

Absurdity of Faith

Allow me to preface this post with a full disclosure. I am not a theologian, nor am I a seminarian. There will be many of my subscribers who are better trained than me in these areas, but I feel compelled to share this all the same.

I’ve always been a very direct person in the way in which I write and speak. Whether in my youth, as a evangelical, fundamentalist Christian or in college as an extreme left wing beatnik, I’ve always sought to convey my opinion with a force and clarity that leaves no doubt in the mind of my audience on where I may stand on a particular issue. 

What I’m about say in this post falls into that category. Inevitably, some of you will find what I have to say to be offensive or even small minded. That’s fine, you are definitely entitled to your opinion, but please understand that I have experienced life from your perspective–I’ve worshiped in liberal churches, participated in social activism, explored alternative paths to God, I even campaigned for the Green Party. In fact, from the age of 21 until about a year ago, I would probably be described as agnostic. 

I turned agnostic because the progressive mindset that I adopted after September 11, never once provided me with the gifts that its followers promised–peace, love, happiness, joy, comfort, etc. Instead, I experienced depression, anxiety, and a true sense of nausea similar to Sartre’s Rouqentin. 

I looked at Christianity and I saw two avenues, the one from my youth, where church goers believed every literal word of the Bible and believed our earth was something like 2,000 years old or I could become a bitter curmudgeon like John Shelby Spong and write really cool, eloquent books that force Christians to think. Neither one of those paths was very appealing to me, and disbelief seemed to be a more palatable option.

I then discovered a “middle road” offered by the “emergents” and “those like the emergents” (I’ve found that “they” are very particular about how you use and don’t use the term “emergent”) that stressed Christian spirituality, featured young, bearded and dreadlocked writers, who shared my taste in music, my love of nicotine and a desire for political activism. Blue Like Jazz got me to consider Christianity as viable option again. However, I soon heard Donald Miller speak highly of Che Guevara and I began to research the roots of this movement. Velvet Elvis was suddenly not as beautiful and powerful anymore. Instead, it was a little bit “new age” and scary.

The movement even had its own presidential candidate, either Barrack Obama, with his “audacity of hope”, or a new age Jesus, created by the radical Christian spiritualist, Shane Claiborne.

I decided to start attending church again, not sure what to expect, and even thought I would begin to explore my calling once again. The service I attended was contemporary in nature, but it lacked something. Again, the pastor stressed social justice, but never a word of salvation. I heard a lot about “hope”, but not so much about “faith.”  I begin to wonder, at who point do you cease to be a Christian and start to be a new ager, secular humanist?

Of course, this leads to other questions, namely what makes a Christian, a Christian? It’s a very complicated onion to peel and I felt it would cause more tears than anything so I chose not to peel it.

However, tonight I was checking my MySpace page and I saw a bulletin from an old friend. It was a YouTube video clip, obviously compiled by a conservative Christian author, “exposing” the Church of Oprah. Now my problems with Oprah date back to 4th grade and my piano teacher’s husband who would watch Oprah religiously and turn the volume up to the point where I couldn’t hear my teacher’s instructions. Since that time, I have had a bitter taste in my mouth towards everything associated with Oprah. Lately, I have been sickened with the way suburban housewives all over the U.S. will believe anything that she says.  So while I’m usually not one for propaganda, I began to pump my fist as this film exposed Oprah for what she really is, a left wing, new age whacko who supports a left wing, new age whacko for President. 

In the video, there is a clip of Oprah telling her audience the story of how as a 28 year old Baptist she knew she out had outgrown the Christian image of God when she heard her preacher proclaim from the pulpit that “God is a jealous god”, meaning that the Christian God was the only true God and He was deserving of all our love, praise and worship–all other God’s were false. Oprah found this image to be offensive and began to “take God outside of the box.”

If I may step upon the soap box for a second, you’re doctor jeremiah RIGHT our God is a jealous God and with good reason–HE IS GOD.

Throughout this Presidential campaign, I’ve been forced to hear Barack Obama speak of the  “audacity of hope.” He has built his Presidential campaign on this phrase and has duped many young people, who like the way it sounds, into supporting him for President. Personally, hope doesn’t do much for me, but I think that we as true believers have the “absurdity of faith” to cling to, for it is this absurd thing called faith that makes us different from these secular humanists.

It’s absurd to think a man could be born of a virgin. It’s absurd to believe that a man would have the power to heal, restore and give new life. It’s absurd to think that man could be beaten and crucified on a cross only to rise from the dead. Yes, it’s absurd to believe that there is ONLY one way to God. And it is because of an absurd thing called faith–the absurdity of us accepting these things to be true–that God is able to reveal His true nature to us and that we are able to experience the joy of our salvation.

So I say to the world you can keep this audacious thing the world calls hope, because I cling to something much more promising, my absurd faith in Jesus Christ. You see it is this absurdity that brings me joy and peace. It calms my anxiety and takes away the nausea. 

I say to the world, you can have this elitist candidate who preaches hope. I’m looking for a candidate who stresses faith—faith in God, faith in country and faith in the individual, as opposed to hope in a hopeless government.

I’m going to try and attach a link to the youtube video clip. I apologize in advance if it does not work.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JW4LLwkgmqA

 

 

We’re Not the Jet Set (We’re the Old Chevrolet Set)

Looking back, I remember Barrack Obama’s Keynote Address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention like it was yesterday. As a bitter, recent college graduate, clinging to the liberal idealism of academia, I saw, in Obama, an end to the divisive nature of partisan politics.

 

“Do we participate in the politics of cynicism, or do we participate in a politics of hope,” Obama asked his audience.

 

His tone was direct and powerful. His cadence was calm and comforting, like that of a pastor. I found myself wanting to shout, “Amen,” as he sought to dispel the myth of a “liberal” and “conservative” America, of “red states” and “blue states,” assuring us all that “we worship an awesome God in the blue states, and we don’t like federal agents poking around in our libraries in the Red States.” Obama’s entire speech was built on understanding those different from him and for the first time in my life, I felt that a politician understood my unique views.

 

As I learned more about Obama and rediscovered my own conservative roots, my interest in the Illinois senator began to wane, but even after the Jeremiah Wright fiasco I looked at Barry Obama as a harmless threat—a misguided socialist who actually believed the words he spoke at the 2004 convention. Obviously, his pastor and his wife had anger issues, but Obama was your typical, over educated, under churched American who wishes to make a god out of the government to replace the God they have destroyed. He wouldn’t get my vote and his ability to draw guilty white voters annoyed me, but Barry, personally, had not done anything to offend me.

 

Then I read this quote:

 

“You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them, and they fell through the Clinton Administration, and the Bush Administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”

 

 

As I read the quote, I allowed myself to soak in the emotion. I knew at first glance what Mr. Barry H. Obama was trying to say, because I used to think like Mr. Barry H. Obama. This particular train of thought, this over simplified explanation for the state of our nation, is one I heard in many a college lecture hall. I was reminded of an American history course I took in college, an entire course, built upon the premise that the modern American political, social and cultural schisms can best be reduced to a conflict of corporate values, favored by rural Americans, and the individual liberties, favored by the urban and educated. In other words, rural American find solace in the things that bring them together, their shared beliefs, and want a government to reflect these values (e.g. “guns and God”), while urban, educated Americans feel that the government is a tool to be used to create and sustain personal liberties.

 

The implication is that rural Americans are either too stupid or are too naïve to understand what is best for them and they need the urban/educated person to make those decisions for them. The thought process is not isolated to academia. Thomas Frank explored the subject thoroughly in his book, What’s The Matter With Kansas?, where he attempts to show how the value-oriented, yet simple minded folks from Kansas, have been duped into voting against the own interests by the promise of more God and less government.

 

And as a matter of full confession, I’ve been guilty of thinking the same things about my native land.

 

As you may know, I’m originally from East Texas, a land full of roughnecks, rednecks, wildcatters and lumberjacks. I spent the first twenty-six years of my life here, learning from the sturdy people inhabiting the area and lamenting over their apparent lack of social and cultural evolution. I often thought to myself that the pine trees, which grow so abundantly in East Texas, were not only responsible for disrupting cell phone signals, but signals of change—political, social and cultural—as well.

 

Daydreaming helped me cope; I pictured myself in a Woody Allen movie, walking the streets of the city, engaged in stimulating conversations about Nietzsche, Felini, and Cole Porter with like-minded individuals. Indeed, I longed to be an Ivy League-educated, East Coast intellectual. Upon moving to Dallas in 2005, I found city life wasn’t what the movies made it out to be. I had the apartment with a downtown view and I even had the neighbors with the fancy degrees, but what I soon learned was that I was surrounded by hopeless dependants—out of touch trust funders and yuppies with MBA’s who understood the value of a dollar, but couldn’t comprehend the value of a hard day’s work or the value of an independent life. 

 

I knew I had to reconnect with my roots, the roots that lie in the same ground as the roots of the pines, roots that connected me to people in touch with reality.

I thought of the party I was at on New Years Eve 1999. As the rest of the world worried about the possibility of the collapse of Western Civilization because of a computer glitch, my friends remarked that everything we ate that night was either caught or killed by us. The water came from a well in the ground that could be manually operated in a pinch and in the spring and summer there was a full vegetable garden. We had guns. We had food. We had water. We were completely self sufficient and we didn’t need the government’s help to survive. We clung to our guns, not out of bitterness, but out of necessity and because of our roots.

I thought of a lady who helped rear me, an aging African-American lady named Claudine. She told everyone she met the story about how she brought me home from the hospital after I was born, never noting the difference in the shades of our melanin.  It was at that point that my bond with her was formed.  She taught me so much about life.  Whether it was the 23rd Psalms or about the life of Dr. King, Claudine played an indelible role in shaping who I am today. As I grew older, Claudine called me on my birthday and Christmas to see how I was doing, reminding me to stay true to my roots, her roots, roots that intertwine with the roots of the pines.

My best friend’s grandfather, a man I call “Grandpa,” also taught me the significance of letting roots take hold in my life. Like other members of the “Greatest Generation”, Grandpa saw a “Great Depression”, a world war against an evil dictator, a Cold War and the rise of the United States as the world’s lone super power.  However, Grandpa’s story stands out even among this group of American icons. Not only did Grandpa survive the Great Depression, he also survived lung cancer and regained his vision after being blind for over a year.  Not only did Grandpa’s service to America foster and nurture her growth into the world’s only super power, he also fostered and nurtured six kids and later in life became the sole guardian/supporter of three grandchildren. While many members of the “Greatest Generation” retired years ago and spend their days playing bingo, Grandpa continues to work in the garage in his backyard. Harvard educated students must plagiarize in order to capture an audience; this “shade tree” mechanic just talks about his life, staying true to his roots, my roots, the roots of the pines, teaching us all what life really means.  

These are lessons that Barry Obama will never understand. These are people that Barry Obama will never understand. These are the roots that Barry Obama will never understand.

 

You see, it is these roots, not bitterness, that causes these people, including myself, to cling to God and country. It is a belief that the individual is far greater than the government and that, by the grace of God, a person can achieve whatever he or she sets out to accomplish.

 

This scares the hell out of people like Obama, because it is people in small towns in East Texas, in Pennsylvania, all across this nation, that by their actions and words, tell Obama and other socialists, we don’t need what you’re selling. We don’t need government in our health care. We don’t need government in our economy. We need the government to protect our nation from foreign and domestic threats and leave us the hell alone and that means Barry Obama is out of job.

 

What the hell is Obama going to do outside of politics? He has no life skills. He has no trade.

 

NewsScroller | msnbc.com

NewsScroller | msnbc.com

I’m Still Here

I apologize for the long delay in between new posts. I’m still trying to get settled in from a recent move, so my free time has been spent taking care of those issues. However, I promise to have some new posts, very soon. In the near future, we will dicuss Barry Obama’s recent comments involving middle-class white Americans, we’ll discover why Democrats would have us to believe that this is the Age of Entitlement, we’ll have a little history lesson and learn how Ronald Reagan was a punk, we’ll look into the interesting links between big government, Marxists organizations in tihs country and millions of yuppies, we will examine the differences between hope and faith and of course, we’ll have some good fun picking on “Big Weather” and the Global Warming nuts.

Until then, we recently lost one of the last great conservatives, not only in Hollywood, but a great conservative outside of the Left Coast in Mr. Charlton Heston. I’d like to share with you a speech Mr. Heston gave, which was actually sent to me by a liberal friend. Enjoy and RIP in Chuck!

 

The following is a speech NRA President Charlton Heston gave to the Harvard Law School Forum on February 16, 1999.

I remember my son when he was five, explaining to his kindergarten class what his father did for a living. “My Daddy,” he said, “pretends to be people.”

There have been quite a few of them. Prophets from the Old and New Testaments, a couple of Christian saints, generals of various nationalities and different centuries, several kings, three American presidents, a French cardinal and two geniuses, including Michelangelo. If you want the ceiling repainted I’ll do my best. There always seems to be a lot of different fellows up here. I’m never sure which one of them gets to talk. Right now, I guess I’m the guy.

As I pondered our visit tonight, it struck me: If my Creator gave me the gift to connect you with the hearts and minds of those great men, then I want to use that same gift now to re-connect you with your own sense of liberty…your own freedom of thought…your own compass for what is right.

Dedicating the memorial at a Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln said of America, “We are now engaged in a great Civil War, testing whether this nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure.”

Those words are true again. I believe that we are again engaged in a great civil war, a cultural war that’s about to hijack your birthright to think and say what resides in your heart. I fear you no longer trust the pulsing lifeblood of liberty inside you…the stuff that made this country rise from wilderness into the miracle that it is.

Let me back up. About a year ago I became president of the National Rifle Association, which protects the right to keep and bear arms. I ran for office, I was elected, and now I serve…I serve as a moving target for the media who’ve called me everything from “ridiculous” and “duped” to a “brain-injured senile, crazy old man.” I know…I’m pretty old…but I sure Lord ain’t senile.

As I have stood in the crosshairs of those who target Second Amendment freedoms, I’ve realized that firearms are not the only issue. No, it’s much, much bigger than that.

I’ve come to understand that a cultural war is raging across our land, in which, with Orwellian fervor, certain acceptable thoughts and speech are mandated.

For example, I marched for civil rights with Dr. King in 1963 – long before Hollywood found it fashionable. But when I told an audience last year that white pride is just as valid as black pride or red pride or anyone else’s pride, they called me a racist.

I’ve worked with brilliantly talented homosexuals all my life. But when I told an audience that gay rights should extend no further than your rights or my rights, I was called a homophobe.

I served in World War II against the Axis powers. But during a speech, when I drew an analogy between singling out innocent Jews and singling out innocent gun owners, I was called an anti-Semite.

Everyone I know knows I would never raise a closed fist against my country. But when I asked an audience to oppose this cultural persecution, I was compared to Timothy McVeigh.

From Time magazine to friends and colleagues, they’re essentially saying, “Chuck, how dare you speak your mind. You are using language not authorized for public consumption!”

But I am not afraid. If Americans believed in political correctness, we’d still be King George’s boys – subjects bound to the British crown.

In his book, “The End of Sanity,” Martin Gross writes that “blatantly irrational behavior is rapidly being established as the norm in almost every area of human endeavor. There seem to be new customs, new rules, new anti-intellectual theories regularly foisted on us from every direction.

Underneath, the nation is roiling. Americans know something without a name is undermining the nation, turning the mind mushy when it comes to separating truth from falsehood and right from wrong. And they don’t like it.”

Let me read a few examples.

• At Antioch College in Ohio, young men seeking intimacy with a coed must get verbal permission at each step of the process from kissing to petting to final copulation…all clearly spelled out in a printed college directive.

• In New Jersey, despite the death of several patients nationwide who had been infected by dentists who had concealed their AIDS, the state commissioner announced that health providers who are HIV-positive need not…need not…tell their patients that they are infected.

• At William and Mary, students tried to change the name of the school team “The Tribe” because it was supposedly insulting to local Indians, only to learn that authentic Virginia chiefs truly like the name.

• In San Francisco, city fathers passed an ordinance protecting the rights of transvestites to cross-dress on the job, and for transsexuals to have separate toilet facilities while undergoing sex change surgery.

• In New York City, kids who don’t speak a word of Spanish have been placed in bilingual classes to learn their three R’s in Spanish solely because their last names sound Hispanic.

• At the University of Pennsylvania, in a state where thousands died at Gettysburg opposing slavery, the president of that college officially set up segregated dormitory space for black students.

Yeah, I know…that’s out of bounds now. Dr. King said “Negroes.” Jimmy Baldwin and most of us on the March said “black.” But it’s a no-no now.

For me, hyphenated identities are awkward…particularly “Native-American.” I’m a Native American, for God’s sake. I also happen to be a blood-initiated brother of the Miniconjou Sioux. On my wife’s side, my grandson is a thirteenth generation native American…with a capital letter on “American.”

Finally, just last month…David Howard, head of the Washington, D.C. Office of Public Advocate, used the word “niggardly” while talking to colleagues about budgetary matters. Of course, “niggardly” means stingy or scanty. But within days Howard was forced to publicly apologize and resign.

As columnist Tony Snow wrote: “David Howard got fired because some people in public employ were morons who (a) didn’t know the meaning of niggardly, (b) didn’t know how to use a dictionary to discover the meaning, and (c) actually demanded that he apologize for their ignorance.”

What does all of this mean? It means that telling us what to think has evolved into telling us what to say, so telling us what to do can’t be far behind.

Before you claim to be a champion of free thought, tell me: Why did political correctness originate on America’s campuses? And why do you continue to tolerate it? Why do you, who’re supposed to debate ideas, surrender to their suppression?

Let’s be honest. Who here thinks your professors can say what they really believe?

It scares me to death and should scare you too, that the superstition of political correctness rules the halls of reason.

You are the best and the brightest. You, here in the fertile cradle of American academia, here in the castle of learning on the Charles River, you are the cream. But I submit that you, and your counterparts across the land, are the most socially conformed and politically silenced generation since Concord Bridge. And as long as you validate that…and abide it…you are – by your grandfathers’ standards – cowards.

Here’s another example. Right now at more than one major university, Second Amendment scholars and researchers are being told to shut up about their findings or they’ll lose their jobs. Why? Because their research findings would undermine big-city mayors…pending lawsuits that seek to extort hundreds of millions of dollars from firearm manufacturers.

I don’t care what you think about guns. But if you are not shocked at that, I am shocked at you. Who will guard the raw material of unfettered ideas, if not you? Who will defend the core value of academia, if you supposed soldiers of free thought and expression lay down your arms and plead, “Don’t shoot me.”

If you talk about race, it does not make you a racist. If you see distinctions between the genders, it does not make you a sexist. If you think critically about a denomination, it does not make you anti-religion. If you accept but don’t celebrate homosexuality, it does not make you a homophobe.

Don’t let America’s universities continue to serve as incubators for this rampant epidemic of new McCarthyism.

But what can you do? How can anyone prevail against such pervasive social subjugation?

The answer’s been here all along.

I learned it 36 years ago, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., standing with Dr. Martin Luther King and two hundred thousand people.

You simply…disobey.

Peaceably, yes. Respectfully, of course. Nonviolently, absolutely.

But when told how to think or what to say or how to behave, we don’t. We disobey social protocol that stifles and stigmatizes personal freedom.

I learned the awesome power of disobedience from Dr. King…who learned it from Gandhi, and Thoreau, and Jesus, and every other great man who led those in the right against those with the might.

Disobedience is in our DNA. We feel innate kinship with that disobedient spirit that tossed tea in to Boston Harbor, that sent Thoreau to jail, that refused to sit in the back of the bus, that protested a war in Viet Nam.

In that same spirit, I am asking you to disavow cultural correctness with massive disobedience of rogue authority, social directives and onerous law that weaken personal freedom.

But be careful…it hurts.

Disobedience demands that you put yourself at risk. Dr. King stood on lots of balconies.

You must be willing to be humiliated…to endure the modern-day equivalent of the police dogs at Montgomery and the water cannons at Selma.

You must be willing to experience discomfort. I’m not complaining, but my own decades of social activism have taken their toll on me. Let me tell you a story.

A few years back I heard about a rapper named Ice-T who was selling a CD called “Cop Killer” celebrating ambushing and murdering police officers. It was being marketed by none other than Time/Warner, the biggest entertainment conglomerate in the world.

Police across the country were outraged. Rightfully so – at least one had been murdered. But Time/warner was stonewalling because the CD was a cash cow for them, and the media were tiptoeing around it because the rapper was black.

I heard Time/Warner had a stockholders meeting scheduled in Beverly Hills. I owned some shares at the time and decided to attend.

What I did there was against the advice of my family and colleagues. I asked for the floor. To a hushed room of a thousand average American stockholders, I simply read the full lyrics of “Cop Killer” – every vicious, vulgar, instructional word.

“I GOT MY 12 GAUGE SAWED OFF

I GOT MY HEADLIGHTS TURNED OFF

I’M ABOUT TO BUST SOME SHOTS OFF

I’M ABOUT TO DUST SOME COPS OFF…”

It got worse, a lot worse. I won’t read the rest of it to you. But trust me, the room was a sea of shocked, frozen, blanched faces. The Time/Warner executives squirmed in their chairs and stared at their shoes. They hated me for that.

Then I delivered another volley of sick lyric brimming with racist filth, where Ice-T fantasizes about sodomizing two 12-year old nieces of Al and Tipper Gore.

“SHE PUSHED HER BUTT AGAINST MY…”

Well, I won’t do to you here what I did to them. Let’s just say I left the room in echoing silence. When I read the lyrics to the waiting press corps, one of them said “We can’t print that.” “I know,” I replied, “but Time/Warner’s selling it.”

Two months later, Time/Warner terminated Ice-T’s contract. I’ll never be offered another film by Warner, or get a good review from Time magazine. But disobedience means you must be willing to act, not just talk.

When a mugger sues his elderly victim for defending herself…jam the switchboard of the district attorney’s office.

When your university is pressured to lower standards until 80% of the students graduate with honors…choke the halls of the board of regents.

When an 8-year-old boy pecks a girl’s cheek on the playground and gets hauled into court for sexual harassment…march on that school and block its doorways.

When someone you elected is seduced by political power and betrays you…petition them, oust them, banish them.

When Time magazine’s cover portrays millennium nuts as deranged, crazy Christians holding a cross as it did last month…boycott their magazine and the products it advertises.

So that this nation may long endure, I urge you to follow in the hallowed footsteps of the great disobediences of history that freed exiles, founded religions, defeated tyrants, and yes, in the hands of an aroused rabble in arms and a few great men, by God’s grace, built this country.

If Dr. King were here, I think he would agree.

Thank you.

You Ain’t From Around Here, Are You Boy (Girl)?

Strumming through the GuideLive section of last Friday’s Dallas Morning News, I stumbled across a piece about Joy Behar speaking at a local charity event. Normally, I would have skipped over the article, but the first sentence caught my attention.

 

            “For Joy Behar, visiting Texas feels like a daring adventure.”

 

The writer then jumped to a quote from Behar lambasting Texas’ perceived conservative reputation. Evidently, Behar believes that some gun loving Texan will accost her for her liberal views. While a majority of Texans probably have no clue who Behar is, let alone her political ideology, the few that do could probably care less that she was visiting our fair city.  However, Behar’s statement does illustrate a major difference in the way conservatives and liberals think.

 

It’s true; a conservative would be subject to both physical and verbal abuse if he or she chose to mingle in a liberal environment. Indeed, George W. Bush was greeted with a chorus of “boos” from forty thousand boisterous fans as he threw out the ceremonial first pitch for the Washington Nationals last month. The liberals vitriol is not limited to sporting events. I read a blog entry last night from a United  Methodist pastor upset that President Bush had been invited to speak at the 2008 General Conference of the United Methodist Church to be held in Fort Worth later this month. The pastor resorted to using all the names liberals use to belittle Bush and encouraged other liberal Methodist pastors to make his appearance uneasy. And just imagine how the Marxists at the Daily Kos would treat anyone to the right of Barrry Obama.

 

None of this is new, nor is any of it surprising.

 

You see, liberals think that everyone thinks like them, and if not they should think like them. In other words, the liberal believes that we should all be of one mindset, and the dissenter is to be whipped until he or she conforms to the status quo. There are countless examples, but let’s take global warming. The liberal thinks that everyone should believe every word out of Al Gore’s mouth and that we should all drive hybrids (or use ethanol), use mercury laden light bulbs and shop at Whole Foods, if we don’t the government should force us to do these things and we should be chided.

 

Liberals, especially the Hollywood and East Coast elite, think that we all want to be like them. Of course, we all want to give birth to children out of wedlock, have loose morals, have multiple failed marriages and multiple failed therapists, walk around this world constantly medicated, check in and out of rehab, and, if we’re lucky, die of a drug over dose before we turn 30.

 

Yes, this is the life that I want. Sign me up. Let’s start today.

 

The liberal automatically assumes that conservatives operate in the same abusive manner. Conservatives, true conservatives, understand and accept the fact that half of the country disagrees with their policies, but hold no bitterness towards those who hold differing views. If you want to use solar power, drive a hybrid and use toilet paper that chafes your ass, by all means go ahead, but don’t expect the government to force the rest of us to be miserable with you.

 

Notice, I did say “true conservative.” The neo-conservatives and the Rapture Rightists are just as annoying as the liberals, trying to legislate their “values”. We don’t need a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage and we sure as hell don’t need global warming legislation.

 

Personally, I could care less if Behar, Rosie, Whoopi, Alec Baldwin or any other Hollywood fascist lives my life. I do think Alec Baldwin would be a little less angry and Rosie a little less fat, but that’s beside the point. Conservatives in the mold of William F. Buckley and Ronald Reagan don’t seek to control the lives of those with whom they disagree, nor do we wish them any harm.

 

Are they ignorant? Yes.

 

Is it their fault? No. Many of the liberal elite are co-dependants (see drug abuse, drug addiction, failed marriages, etc.) who cannot think for themselves and need a parental figure in their lives. Since many of them have dysfunctional families, they cannot turn to them for help, so they seek solace and help from the government. It is our job as conservatives to teach them all the value of personal responsibility and wean them off the public teat.

 

As for Ms. Behar, she can rest easy when visiting Texas. Conservatives are a gentle, docile creature and will allow socialists to mingle with us, but if she stays too long she many learn about an honest day’s work, how to care for herself and soon learn that big government is really not that great after all.

 

 

Race in America

With the national media finally focusing on Barack Obama’s ties to the black supremacist, Jeremiah Wright, the Obama campaign decided to go on the defensive by injecting the issue of race into the Presidential race.  After hearing Obama’s speech, I felt nothing. I didn’t feel offended like many of my conservative brothers and sisters, and I sure as hell didn’t feel inspired as many on the left felt. In the end, I felt only confusion.

 

On message boards and blogs I saw black radicals and white liberals telling me I should embrace Wright’s words as some sort of theological break through and to acknowledge the fact that, since I am white, I was in fact part of the problem and an oppressor of the minority community simply because of my skin color.

 

I immediately called bull shit on this assertion and began to directly challenge the radicals to provide an example of when I had personally “oppressed” anyone of any race, gender or sexual orientation. Of course they couldn’t provide an example, because there weren’t any. However, instead of conceding and admitting that I was correct, the radicals pushed me to read their propaganda. I love reading and learning more about my enemies (I find Marx and Engles extremely laughable) and I plan on picking up some of the recommended materials regarding “black liberation theology”; however, recommending literature would not pass the LSAT logic test for refuting the argument.

 

This exchange served as an impetus to really reflect on race relations. I soon realized that “race relations” was very broad and very vague and I needed to frame the arguments specific to this instance. 

 

Many Americans, myself included, find the words of Jeremiah Wright to be offensive and polemic, no matter how you choose to label his speech. Further, we find it extremely difficult to believe that Obama could attend Wright’s church for 20 years and not somehow endorse Wright’s rants by his silence. The black radicals and white liberals confirm this suspicion by not directly refuting the assertion and instead accusing us of being oppressors and stating that Wright’s words are merely a product of a lifetime full of racism. To me, the main question that emerged was, is race still a major issue in the United States?

 

Obviously, we as a nation are not perfect on the race issue. Every race has its’ bad apples, but I do not feel they are representative of a race as a whole.  Growing up in a small town evenly divided between Caucasians and African-Americans in rural East Texas, I think I have a unique perspective on the issue. In my view, the only place where race remains an issue is among the older generations, specifically those 50 years of age or older.

 

Obama touched on this in his speech when he used the example of his white grandmother uttering racial epitaphs and Jeremiah Wright is himself an example of a man living in 2008, who feels it is still 1967. My generation, even in the most monolithic communities, no longer divide ourselves into racial groups and instead seek to live together without government interference. The only time we think about race is when older generations force it on us out of guilt.

We are not responsible for the actions of our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents or any other ancestors. Yet I am supposed to accept Wright’s lunacy because past discrimination? Our generation recognizes there’s a better way. Rappers like 2Pac expressed many of the same frustrations as Wright, but encouraged his listeners to come together and seek solutions together without the government. After all, politicians are/were part of the problem, not the solution.

 

Of course, many of the white liberals who want us to feel guilty of being white, have no clue who 2Pac is and are completely out of touch with the African-American community, yet they feel they are qualified to lead reconciliation efforts between the black and white community. There’s your problem right there. You have a group of white liberals who only understand the African-American community through sociology classes and community service projects and don’t truly understand the culture and a group black radicals who refuse to let go of centuries of bitterness.

 

Bitterness never solved a problem! Get over it. Yes, I said it. Get over it; move on and accept personal responsibility for your own actions and stop worrying about what happened 50 years ago. It’s 2008.

 

White liberals need to trade in their guilt for a 2Pac CD and learn a little about the culture they feel they have oppressed.  Black radicals need to transform their anger into ambition and learn how to succeed in the American society they continue to vilify. Perhaps they could both start by reading President Ronald Regan’s “City on a Hill” speech.

 

Additionally, both groups’ needs to realize the 60’s are over. The decade’s Romantic idealism provided great material for movies and some great music, but we live in a society where we must accept the responsibilities and truths of adult hood and grow up. Government cannot legislate equality and shouldn’t try; they will only make things worse. Change begins at home and if you feel things are not what they should be, start by looking in the mirror and see what you can change about yourself. As for me, I’m smiling at the man I see in the mirror and it’s not just because of my good looks.

Almost Cut My Hair

“Almost cut my hair
It happened just the other day
It’s gettin kinda long
I coulda said it wasn’t in my way
But I didn’t and I wonder why
I feel like letting my freak flag fly
Cause I feel like I owe it to someone”

 

Almost Cut My Hair—Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

 

 

Per my Wednesday routine, I picked up a copy of the Dallas Observer at lunch the other day.  For those of you unfamiliar with Dallas, the Observer is Dallas’ alternative to the Dallas Morning News. Hidden among the mounds of advertisements for adult entertainment and cosmetic enhancements are often true jewels of investigative journalism, tackling many issues that the mainstream press refuses to cover.  This weeks’ cover featured a green silhouette of a man walking towards the Dallas skyline, an image I originally mistook for a marijuana leaf.  The title story, “Douchebags In The Mist”, a clever play on Diane Fossey’s Gorilla’s In The Mist, promises to take readers on an adventure “into the Dallas jungle in search of the elusive $30,000 millionaire…”

 

Intrigued, I immediately turned to page 16 to catch Andrea Grimes’ gripping expose.

 

As a quick aside for all of my Atlanta readers, if you happen to pick up a copy of this week’s Observer, don’t miss page 29. There’s a very favorable review of Matt Lyle’s latest effort, “The Boxer”. Read the article and go check out his production. This Atlanta boy is one of the brightest stars in the Dallas theater scene.

 

More me…

 

Grimes seems to think of herself as Dallas’ answer to Carrie Bradshaw, and sets off on a bar-hopping mission across Dallas to find the male version of the $30,000 millionaire, to try and understand his mindset. For those of you not familiar with the term “$30,000 millionaire”, it is a term used by many to describe those individuals, who choose a Philistine lifestyle and live way above their means. Dallas, draped in decadence, boasts an exorbitant number of these individuals, an observation I made upon first moving to the city.

 

Indeed, in my very first blog entry upon arriving in the Metroplex from Texarkana, I shared my initial impressions of my Uptown neighborhood:

 

“…these “kids” are still attached to their parent’s umbilical chord. I love standing in my parking garage and playing “Count the Audi’s” and determining how many were bought with daddy’s money and how many were actually earned through hard work (I estimate that only 10% of Uptown residents have earned what they own.) This lack of independence is sure to affect one’s emotional maturity and their attitude towards life. Uptown residents desire to make money, present an image of success, and engage in drunken acts of debauchery Thursday thru Saturday, but these kids lack culture.

 

 

 

I moved to Dallas to escape the influence of the pines—that sense of cultural depravity often associated with rural areas across our nation. While in East Texas, I found a home among East Texas’ progressive underground, a unique blend of neo-Bohemians, punks, artists and emo kids.  Though small, it was a vibrant community that encouraged artistic expression, personal liberties, and a general sense of rebellion against all the cultural stereotypes attached to East Texas.  We went to shows, put on plays, attended political rallies and staged walk outs.  We sat around talking religion, politics and the virtues of a vegan diet.

 

In spite of this sense of community, I knew I had to escape. I would lie awake at night asking the million dollar question, what do you do with a B.A. in English?  The answer was rather obvious, you write the “Great American novel”, move to New York City and your life becomes the stuff of Woody Allen movies. 

 

Since I wrote for an on-line publication and was involved with both Internet and terrestrial radio programs, I figured I could support myself with journalism until I signed the big book deal. Immediately, I began a search for positions in both New York and Los Angeles.  I responded to an ad from a “business journal” that was looking to start an Internet version of their print material, starting salary of $80,000.00. Intrigued, I submitted my resume and immediately received a telephone call. They wanted to conduct a phone interview, at which point they told me they were a business journal for companies involved in the adult entertainment industry—a Wall Street Journal of porn and adult novelty items if you will.  While this adventure could have probably added more material for my novels, I decided it would be difficult to explain my job to my family, so I politely declined.

 

One night in December, a friend called me up and wanted to know if I would accompany her to the casino boats in Shreveport.  I’ve never been one for gambling, but I thought her company would be nice and I would be good for $20. As we walked into the first casino, I told her that I had a $20 bill and I wasn’t getting any more cash. Neither of us was what you would describe as wealthy, so went straight to the quarter slot machines and began feeding our money. Not 10 minutes passed by before I was down to my last dollar. I was so sick of the whole thing that I laid the whole dollar down on one spin.

 

As the lights began to flash and the siren began to wail, fear clutched my body. Out of nowhere, a uniformed employee, talking on a walkie-talkie approached me carrying an electronic notebook. She began giving my physical description to someone on the end. Was this it? Was I going to go out in a scene from a bad Vegas movie? No, I had hit the jack pot.  She took down my personal information, asked me if I wanted a cash pay out. “Yes, please,” I told her. Not long after that, she returned with a fresh stack of one hundred dollar bills. I forced them into my back pocket, grabbed my female companion and made a quick exit. Finally, I had my seed money to escape.

 

At the same time, my sister decided to move back to Texas from Boston and was looking for a roommate in Dallas. While it wasn’t New York or LA, Dallas was a city and would suffice. I sent off my resume to one law firm, had one interview, gave them my salary requirements and was hired in less than a week. I had finally escaped the piney woods.

 

From my new apartment’s living room, I had a perfect view of the downtown Dallas skyline and I felt as if I were king of the world. The city would breathe new life into me—no longer would I suffer from “writer’s block.” I lived within walking distance of three theatres and one independent film house. I could walk to the corner, catch the trolley and 5 minutes later I was in the Arts District. This was city life and surely I could find a group of like minded people.

 

What I found in Dallas was an insolent, bourgeois society, “chatting not about Heidegger but wine.” Was this what Ginsberg meant when he wrote, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical, naked…”  I vowed to never give in, to never sell out, to remain true to the Bohemian spirit, the common blood line that ran through my veins and those of my friends.

 

As time passed, I adjusted to my surroundings. I got a window office with a view of downtown Dallas and a 16% raise in my salary with the first 6 months of starting my new job. I was invited to the Platinum Club at the AAC. I saw my first Mavericks game from inside the owner’s box. Yes sir, I was living the good life. Before I knew it, I was listening to conservative talk radio.

 

The external pressure was extreme. I’d always been a bit of a non-conformist. Even in my youth, I clung to scripture that taught me to go against the grain, “Be not conformed to the world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind and spirit.” (Roman 12:2) While I had outgrown the Biblical literalism of my youth, these words still rang true. However, here I was, shedding my spirit, standing naked in front of the world, transforming into a 9-to-5 suit. If I didn’t watch it, I would become a $30,000.00 millionaire. What a poser!

 

It took my former landlady to make me realize my hypocrisy. She is a true child of the ‘60’s and we often sit and talk politics, sharing stories of activism. One day she looked at me and said, “You know what’s wrong with your generation? My people cut their hair, they quit caring and sold out. Had they given a fuck, they would have passed on our ways to you guys and right now we’d have students in the fucking streets.” Maybe she’s wrong, maybe she’s right, the point is she made me realize I was awfully close to “cutting my hair” and that something had to be done.

 

There is a fine line between “selling out” and “buying in”. Finding exactly where that line is, well that’s what we call living.

 

 

La vie Boheme!

Friday Night Lights

Standing in line at local drug store this afternoon, a magazine headline caught my eye, “Why You Should Hate Southlake!” It was the September 2007 edition of D Magazine, a magazine I tend to avoid like the plague because of their constant interference in the lives of my sister’s boyfriend’s family (they once published his Outlook Calendar on their society blog and tried to advertise the places he would be; they also love to badger his famous brother). With that said, I couldn’t resist purchasing the magazine.

My fascination with the Southlake Carroll football team dates back to my childhood. I was raised in a small East Texas town with a 3A school. I would hear stories of this suburban Dallas school that featured an offensive line with average SAT score of 1300 and an all white backfield. It sounded a lot like Columbia University of the Ivy League, which at the time was in the midst of the longest losing streak in the NCAA. However, this Southlake school found a way to win, including several victories over East Texas power houses.

As I grew older, this school moved up classifications and I no longer paid attention to their program. After all, as a loyal Atlanta Rabbit fan, all I cared about was 3A football, but then in 2003 I accepted a job covering East Texas for a major high school football website. Their D/FW message boards were flooded with Dragon fans and for some reason they made me sick. First, I had grown disillusioned with the philistine lifestyle of the Dallas suburbs, but I was also sickened by the schools lack of diversity. Every media outlet in the D/FW area and the state fell in love with SLC and I aimed to be different, so I began to attack the school on every level.

I got home this afternoon and began to read the article. It opens with a very poignant exchange on airplane bound for Lubbock between quarterback Riley Dodge’s girlfriend and an Odessa Permian football fan. The Permian fan, whom D Magazine portrays as a country bumpkin, not unlike the Hollywood portrayal, tells the girl about the history of “Mojo” and the Permian tradition. Juxtaposed with that is Dodge’s girlfriend, who is portrayed as the all-American girl-smart, athletic, attractive and unlike our Permian fan, the magazine doesn’t describe her accent. The article continues to compare the two cities, Odessa the town that dried up with 1980′s oil bust and Southlake the most affluent burg in the D/FW area outside of the Park Cities.

The reference to Permian immediately conjured up images of Friday Night Lights. I remembered the first time I read the book as an 8^{th Grader and the immediate connection I felt between the plains of West Texas and the pine hills of East Texas-communities whose identity were directly shaped by the local high school football team. Over the past couple of nights, I’ve watched Season One of the television series of the same name, and fought back tears as memories of my days of growing up in Atlanta were brought to life on screen. Dillon, Texas could be Atlanta, Gilmer, Tatum, Arp, Alto, Daingerfield, Tyler or Longview, but after reading the article I don’t think Southlake could ever be Dillon.}

You see, where I come from you look on your roster each season and the only thing that changes are the first names. Our communities, our schools, our teams are comprised of families who gave their money, blood, sweat, tears and prayers to shape and form a community in the middle of nowhere. When I return to watch a Rabbit football game now, ten years after I graduated, I recognize the name of the players by association-I played with his brother or cousin, that’s such-and-such’s kid, his grandfather was on that ’52 team.

You don’t get that at SLC. Indeed, the Dragon’s football history hardly existed prior to 1980. In fact, the magazine directly references the town and school’s growth to their success on the football field. Affluent non-Texans who relocate to the Dallas area for work want an idyllic community to raise their family. What says “Texas” more than a successful high school football program? This is what you get, a community full of Type-A personality transplants, with no real connection to the land or school, desperate for their kids to experience success, so they enroll them in a ready made trophy factory. In 20 years, the parents will retire to Boca and the kids will have graduated college and have jobs in other cities across the United States, a new slew of transplants will have arrived in Southlake and the cycle will start again.

Don’t mistake my animosity for jealousy. My beloved Atlanta High School has experienced her share of success on and off the field-state titles in football, baseball, and track, the overall team state title in academic UIL and a Lone Star Cup-not to mention several successful alums (i.e. comedian Ellen DeGeneres, former U.S. Congressman Max Sandlin, Washington Redskin’s running back Derrick Blaylock). I just want the real thing when it comes to Texas high school football and I just don’t see it in Southlake.

Ironically, the article closes with a quote from Todd Dodge, speaking about the community of Southlake, a quote who stole from Texas A&M, “From the outside looking in, you can’t understand it. From the inside looking out, you can’t explain it.” The same can be said for understanding Friday night lights. In the end, Southlake may experience and understand success on and off the field, but they will never understand the meaning and passion associated with the glare of the Friday night lights.