College graduate should be taxed at the capital gains level

Here's an odd thought? What if my income was taxed at the same rate as Mitt Romney's?

Good ol' Mitt really hasn't worked for many years. He might speak now and then and receive a fee for that, but he really is just living off his money from Bain Capital, which earned him that money by laying off hard working people. And if you're a conservative, do not give me the, "Well, they have a right to make a profit." BS!, if in the same breath you then gripe about jobs being shipped overseas.

I digress. Back to my point: Every American who graduated from college should be able to write their taxes off as capital gains.

How? You ask. Remember the recruiter for your college. You bristled at the price tag, and they said, "It's an investment in your future." An investment...that is what capital gains are. So when the recruiter convinced you to go, you went planning on a descent salary. An investment right?

Now, I know of my most ardent GOP friends will erroneously say, "That's not your investment. It's the banks'!" How do you think we got into the crisis we are in? People gambled with bank money. We on the other hand didn't gamble with it. We tried to be safe and get a degree that would pay a living wage after graduation. 

Considering most people who graduated from college don't make a decent salary and many make just enough to not qualify for federal aid, yet enough to starve, I think every dime of their income that is withheld should be withheld at the capital gains level of fifteen percent. This should be in effect until they pay off their student loans. Once those are paid off, they are then obligated to pay their tax bracket. Until then, they are investors reaping on their return. Good capitalists who paid and are paying and should thus be taxed accordingly.

Now, I know many will say, "If this is the law so many people will want to get into college." Is that bad? And if we turn them down, is that bad? Set the bar high, set the reward high, and people will flock to you...kind of like how they should approach dealing with teachers.

End point - College graduates should pay only 15% on their income as other capital venturists. It's an investment and only fair. Isn't that what all my good conservative friends want? An equitable tax code? I've no problem with college graduates struggling and fighting out of the gate. It's good for us. But tax us accordingly.

9/11 Blahs

I suppose the requisite way to start this sort of posting is to tell readers where I was and what I did that day. But I won't. Instead, I'll admit that when I woke up today, I felt...blah. That sounds bad, but it's true. I went to church, and that was great, in that our minister spoke so eloquently on forgiveness. Otherwise, I was pretty disengaged from much of the sentiment today.

Saying I was blase today will likely not make me a popular person. But I was. It didn't feel like 9/11's tenth anniversary, it felt like Groundhog's Day. What I mean by that is I read the paper this morning and the articles, editorials were thus: "There Are Moderate Muslims," "America Unites," "Sports Help Healing," and John Kass' column, "America Needs to Not be Fearful" or some such garbage title. In short, it was nearly the same stuff I saw ten years ago in the paper. Kass' column floored me because I thought, "Really? Do we daily live our lives in fear?" No not really. This was a great boilerplate for 9/11/2001. But for 2011, it was such a lazy freaking article. After ten years, the best insight that fishwrap scribe can come up with is "Don't be afraid"? How John Kass still has a column is beyond my comprehension and I hope some day he has a congressional investigation so it will provide him more material to write about superfluous crap.

So yes, I was a little let down. It felt as if papers and news outlets went and said, let's grab what worked ten years ago. We have though, I hope moved beyond all these tropes. I guess not.

I also did not feel a great deal today because in the subsequent anniversaries, I had great conversations with my classes about the significance of 9/11, but after three years, my students were too young to really care. They suddenly didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it led to arguments about Iraq, insults to George Bush, and so on. So as they no longer cared because they did not want to cause unpleasantness, I guess I didn't either.

Then I saw the documentary on CBS tonight. It followed the Miracle House, a firehouse that lost none of it's members on 9/11, but are now seeing their heroes dying of cancer. I initially didn't want to watch it. Jets vs. Cowboys sounded better. But I made myself watch it, and it was very emotional. A flood of frustration rushed back as I was reminded of the 343 firefighters who stood in the towers, as police rushed out because the building would collapse, but because the police and fire were not on the same frequency (Thank you Rudy), the firefighters stood pat and refused to leave (because they had not heard the building would collapse), shepherding people out until the building collapsed. And then last year GOP members of Congress fought hard not to give benefits to those heroes.

The whole documentary brought back a rush of thoughts and memories. So here is my "Where were you?"

I was asleep. I got a call on my home phone. It was my friend John Popelka, a vet of the Afghan war (not then but since). John was screaming, "Luke, get your fucking ass up..." to which I ended listening to the message, thinking he was just trying to mess with me since I was living three hours behind him. Not long afterwards, Alette called me on my cell phone which was not yet a week old...I'd never had a cell phone before this. She told me a plane hit the World Trade Center. I told her that was no surprise. Planes fly close there. She then said, "No, another one hit, and another plane hit the Pentagon." At that point, I said, "It's bin Laden." ( It amazed me that the media had to explain who bin Laden was despite the fact that he was involved in the 93 bombing of the WTC and our embassies in Tanzania and Kenya. It was like he was completely off the radar for most Americans because he was the plucky little A-rab in a cave challenging our big bad power. But I knew back in 94 he was dangerous.) I jumped up and looked at the TV images through the snow; images provided by a makeshift antennae made from a coat hanger. The buildings were burning.

I burst into Paul's room, "Paul, the fucking trade centers got hit by a plane, so did the Pentagon." What I remember of all this was I could not stop smiling. This did then and still does sicken me. It was not as if I was happy, but the absurdity was not lost on me, and I could not make sense of it all. I was damn near hysterical.

We watched the buildings fall. Then I had to go to class. I called Arizona State to see if we had classes, and they said, "All classes are still scheduled." That cracked me up. My apartment and ASU were on the landing path for Sky Harbor Airport. And planes were still landing. But class is class. I had to go.

I went and our teacher was so flippant: "Well, bad things happen. That doesn't mean our plans change." In hindsight, I thank her for that attitude. It's rubbed off on me. After that, I went to playwriting workshop. Then I went and sat in front of a recruiting station for I don't know how many hours.

When I arrived at home, I had multiple missed calls from my dad. I called him back and his first words were, "I hope you didn't do something stupid and enlist." My dad is a career military man, and has a love of country I wish I could emulate. (This is not to say I don't love my country. I do, and I learned it from him, but as a son follows the father, I feel completely inadequate compared to Dad.) His objection was not based on joining, but rather, letting emotions get the best of me. To this day, I wish I had, especially given Pat Tillman...although maybe not.

And that's the essence of this 9/11 issue: Our passions and anger. As I heard in church today, forgiveness is exceptionally hard to enact. We offer forgiveness, hoping we get results/benefits, but the reality is that true forgiveness has no stings attached. Tough to do. Try it some time.

What it comes down to for me...my 9/11 story starts one month prior. I was working for damn near nothing at an Off-Broadway theatre all summer. My boss took mercy on me and tossed me some money to go see shows. I saw two, and planned on a third with my roommate, an interior designer. We went to the Trade Centers for the TKTS. It was closed. He insisted I go atop the trade centers. I'm not impressed by architecture, and I tried so hard to get out of going up top, insisting I'd be back following year. We went up, and it was AMAZING. It had a museum there about the building of the trade centers. From the observation deck, we saw all of Manhattan, and all the planes flying into Kennedy and La Guardia. They felt so close.

As we stood atop, I asked with my roommate, "Could you imagine being up top here, when the bomb went off back in the parking garage?" - a reference to the bombing in 1993.

He responded, "You wouldn't have felt it." I was shocked. "These buildings are meant to withstand a lot at their base," he explained. "To take it down from the base is worthless. If the buildings are to come down, they are designed to have charges at the mid to upper levels and let the weight from above take it down."

"How would you do that?" I asked out of curiosity.

"I have no idea," he said. We saw it less than a month later.

People I had met that summer did die. That's hard to swallow, but I offer this as hope or...well I don't know, but it's worth mentioning.

I spoke to my college friend Jill after the attacks. She said they tried to close their windows and keep the A/C on. They were not too far, and downwind, of ground zero. She told me, for a few weeks it smelled like burning flesh. However, the day of 9/11, her roommate and she were in an argument over bills or some such roommate dispute. Her roommate, Yael, was late for work, and she left with nothing resolved. She took the subway, stepped out, walked to work in time to see a plane hit the building she worked in.

Somehow, it never makes sense, but in that chaos, there seems to be order.

So as I started today with the blahs, I've suddenly, felt more inclined to reflect. We have since killed bin Laden, and I hope we celebrate less, and reflect on vengeance and forgiveness. Will we forget? No, never. But I hope we can move on as a nation to greater heights, true Christianity that so many conservative politicians espouse, but seem unwilling to practice, i.e. forgiveness, which then leads to growth. Sadly, if today's paper was any indication, we are still locked in the tired old slogans of unity and revenge and fear and trite acceptance, i.e. tolerance rather than acceptance, popular but unfounded ten years ago. I choose to move forward.

My certificate of live birth

So, maybe some of you have heard that I am getting married. This whole process requires that I have to have a certified birth certificate. It's very easy to acquire. It is, however, nothing more than a sheet of paper claiming that it is my "certificate of live birth."

This got me to thinking of President Obama (yes, the last president officially elected, G.W. Bush doesn't count). His big issue was bureaucracy that did not immediately allow for full disclosure.

After trying to get my birth certificate, here is all I can say. All the idiot tea party members who have stood firm that our President is not American are wrong. Every, every (have I said every?) critique they raise reflects an ignorance of the way our state governments run... yes tea party fanatics, the states run these things. See the 10th Amendment, which you all cite so much, but of which you do not know the ramifications.

To begin. I ordered my birth certificate for the wedding. I cannot, cannot get my birth certificate. I can get a copy that certifies live birth. I called at least a half-dozen state organizations to get my birth certificate, only to create a little ballyhoo (NJ law says I am good with a certified certificate of live birth; but that doesn't work for the President, so it doesn't fly with me). Basically they directed me to a number of state offices to which I would have to write letters just to get my official birth certificate. Ironically, much of the state employees I spoke with seemed floored that I would want my original birth certificate. I kept saying, "I need it." They asked, "What is wrong with the certificate (of live birth)?"

Here's what it boils down to. I got a copy of my birth certificate. My parents were signed onto it, as was the attending MD. It's a copy, but hey, I think it works. We'll see.

Ok? Following me so far? I cannot get my birth certificate in Wisconsin, unless I write a few letters to legislators who are too busy to respond to my sad applications (I learned this in both Illinois and Arizona). The best I can get without donating money and pulling strings is a certificate of live birth. I checked with NJ and they said, "That's all we need." I thought it would be a problem, but they said, "That's all we need." Yes I know that is repetitive. That was intentional.

This is not the kicker. The tea party freaks out at the official mark of the state of Hawaii with President Obama. They are so mad that it took nearly two weeks for the birth certificate to be certified some time after his birth. My birth certificate has been officially certified on 09.09.1977 (and yes, I realize I'm giving away my age). This is over two weeks from the date of my birth. But that is bureaucracy.

So end of story, I was born in Kenya. It took three decades to set it up so I could run for president, and I totally have planned, since my birth, to subvert the US Constitution. I am not a US citizen. I've only faked it, and you birthers can start the process of deporting me. To quote your prophet G.W. Bush, "Bring it on."

Love,

Luke Krueger

So I've been off for a few weeks.

The worst part of road burn is waking up in your own bed and having no idea where you are. This is what happened to me over the last week, and it didn't help that I left my fiance and her friend stranded at a train station.

Let's recap the last few weeks. I did my initial U-Haul road trip. That had me landing in Topeka, KS. Then an interview in OK, and a night in Amarillo, TX. Then off to Las Vegas, NM, which rocked. A night in the roach motel in Gallup, NM. Drove to Phoenix, and spent a week there. Had to get back to DeKalb to get my crushed car into the shop. I drove all day and night. Arrived in DeKalb at 11:00 AM. Got my car to the shop, spent a few hours with Chris, slept for a few, and was up at 3:00, and at Midway by 4:00 for a 6:00AM flight to NYC.

This was the worst flight I've ever been on. Word was that due to recent storms, there were no available pilots to fly given FAA restrictions. Then they found one, but he was down to the minute. So he took every jet stream and made the flight one that tossed luggage and books down the aisle. When we touched down, it was such a hard landing my gimpy shoulder went out of socket, and my back wrenched so badly it still fucking hurts. Advil so longer works...which is why I am up. Back pain is awful.

I did one week at camp and had to fly back for a family reunion/engagement party. The camp I ran wasn't supposed to go up, but at the last minute, it was viable, and when you work for someone like D Murph, you can't say no. He let me leave camp though for 40 hours.

I left Thursday at 7:00. Landed in Milwaukee at 9:00. Met my sisters and Bryan (Marla's fiance) and we ate and drank. Up the next morning, and hit the road. I got a free breakfast because I went to Panda Express and asked for steamed veggies. The veggies weren't ready, but Kung Pao chicken shortly was. I said, "I'll take that." When I had to pay, the manager said, "It's on the house. We didn't have the veggies ready." I offered to pay, repeatedly...they refused...this is the difference between the Midwest and the East. So my breakfast was free.

Did the four hour drive to Merrill, WI, and saw my beloved family I've not seen for so long. I saw little kids who sat on my lap who are now adults. Weird. I was mixing up names. This is sad...it reminded me how disconnected I am to my great extended family. Worst of all, I had to leave before, one of my greatest friends, Ben Henrich, my cousin arrived, and he (rightfully let me hear it). He went out with Chris and my sisters, and I got the text, "Your fiance is awesome, and you suck for leaving early." That hit me hard. I will NEVER put myself in that position. God bless Chris for being so great as to meet parts of my family alone, but it reminded me, I have to be more in touch. I can be gregarious, but I just shut down to way too many people.

Anyways...the Friday shindig was awesome. We ate very well. Chris got her first taste of cheese curds and LOVED them. Personally, those things disgust me, so I guess I'm not a true badger, but Chris is. The entire night was Chris meeting the family: My Uncle Lee, who I did not talk to enough. My uncle Bobby and Aunt Dorthy, Aunt Harriet, cousin Holly, cousin Jerry Lee, and so on. The greatest moment was when my Aunt Carol and Uncle Dave (who are providing our music for the wedding), asked if we wanted to hear the wedding music. Of course we said yes. So, in their home which is on the Wisconsin river, with an amazing picture window, we sat there and listened to harp and violin play our wedding music. The worst (or best) came when they played "Lo How the Rose Ere Blooming". Chris and I both cried.

"Low How the Rose Ere Blooming" is central to our relationship from the movie/book _The Time Traveler's Wife_. She understands that I am on the road, and I arrive and disappear in no time; much as the protagonist of the book/movie. On top of it all is the age difference, so we always joke that while I was doing X in college, she was in elementary school, and how funny would it be that if I showed up, and told a fourteen year old Chris, "Your future husband is a professor right now." I know that's not elementary school, but humor me.

The point is that the Time Traveler is always off, but not of his own will, and he hates being away, and struggles to survive, but some how he always makes it back to his love.

So after all the festivities, I finally went to bed at one. I was up at 3:30, and on the road to Milwaukee for an 8:00 AM flight. I made it in plenty of time. When I checked in a man walked up to the counter and said, "This woman doesn't speak English, but she was supposed to be in Minneapolis, but she was dropped off here, and so was her luggage." Whoops!! For a typical traveler, this is really nothing new. But the people at the counter didn't know this. The customer relations person gave me my ticket, and said, "You've been upgraded to business class." Good place to be. Free drinks, and loads of food. So much space too. Wow! I've never flown first class, and I don't anticipate I ever will, but this was a nice sniff.

It was one of the best flights I've ever had, smooth, I could walk around, it was nice. Is there a flight in this country without turbulence? I found it. Hit the ground at LaGuardia, which I still maintain is the biggest craphole of an airport in this country. Imagine the tiniest space you can fit 10,000 people in and you have LaGuardia. I caught a cab back to the dorm. Dropped my luggage and went to meet the kids.

More on the camp in a bit. So once I landed, I was back to camp director, which when you don't have a resident life director sucks because you're the first line of being the bad guy. Still, when I met up with the camp, they rushed up and surprised me...which with me in NYC is a bad thing because I nearly punched some of them. Still, I missed them. They were a great group. And they looked happy to see me, which shocked the shit out of me.

So camp, went, and that's a whole new blog, and with my A-hole neighbors who crank their bass, I'm in no mood to wax more than I need to on the point that I had crazy few weeks.

Once the camp was done, I went to Woody and Garth's engagement party, now that it's legal in NYC. The party was great except for the fact that is was casual formal, and all I had was camp clothes, which means a gray cotton shirt and torn khaki cargo shorts. Everyone else was New York Stunning. Didn't feel out of place though.

Stayed up, went to JFK at 4:00. Flight left at 8:00, I think. Caught my plane. Met Chris and Krissy at O'Hare at 8:30. We hung out in Chicago. I tried to get Krissy authentic deep dish pizza at Gino's East, but the guard dog at the door, an albino (not really) with a dumbass mustache tattoo on his finger kept misrepresenting the directions. "If you want to get out of line, seats are available at the bar." Okay, so we try that. Conner the near albino says, "I"m sorry only I seat you at the bar and restaurant." Oh. That means I have have to give you money, and I'll be damned if I do that. So we go back to line after losing our spot, my bad. We wait. Then Conner, "mustache boy" says there are seats on the patio if we wish to take them. I pull Chris and Krissy out of line, and say, "We'll sit outside." Conner says, "I'll sit you when I'm ready." At that point, I said, "We're gone." I used to love Gino's East, but after this, I will never take people to one of their places of business. It's not the hottest NYC club. It's a pizza place and as soon as they throw up the velvet robe, I'm gone.

We went to Navy Pier, which is a total tourist trap, I know, but at least they know how to take care of patrons, unlike Gino's East. Can you get my drift, avoid the big timer Gino's East.

At some point, I said, "I'm too tired. I need to go home and sleep." Went back to DeKalb after thirty, forty some hours of being awake, I went home and slept for 15 hours. Which made me miss Chris' phone calls for a pick up, and I'll never forgive myself for that. I totally let her down. Thankfully it was not an emergency, and they cabbed it back to DeKalb, which I paid for, but damn I felt like a schlub. They were totally cool about it.

So to recap. I did an all night drive to DeKalb from Phoenix. Slept a bit and then was off to NYC, where I ran a camp that the students lived and went to class in Spanish Harlem. Left on Thursday for a family party (which rocked!). Did the party on Friday. Left at 4:00 AM on Saturday. Landed and was back on duty on Saturday. Did the camp. Once it closed, I hung with my good friends,Garth and Woody. Garth was so nice. He kept saying, "I don't know how you're still standing." Went straight from the party to the airport, and then to Chicago. I still have no idea what time zone I am in. I've woken up for the last few days, and it takes me 30-60 seconds to establish where I am. It doesn't help that I moved into a new apartment. So let's hope I'll have a clue where I am at tomorrow.

Out,

Luke

Arrived in Phoenix

10-4, good buddy. My advice for this blog is: Don't buy into commercial BS where they make you buy something to get the wi-fi code.

Checking in from Phoenix, well technically, Scottsdale. Pulled into Phoenix this morning. It was hot, but despite what you think it's not bad. It reminded me of the first day I rolled into this town. I saw the bank sign that read 112. I thought, "I am gonna die." Then I got out, and it wasn't bad. I'm not saying 112 is great, but compared to 80 in DeKalb with 60% humidity, Phoenix is much better.

Yesterday was great! I met a brother and sister who took over their father's U-Haul dealership, after he passed. They grew up with the company. They used to play in the trailers. They had chores which included cleaning the trailers. The family is so ingrained in the town that it's no wonder the dealership has survived. They're dad ran for mayor, and was part of the council that combined the two cities of Las Vegas, NM.

The most exciting moment came when the interview had to break because they received an emergency call from the Forest Service in need for trucks to supply the fire fighters at Los Alamos. Man, they sprung into action, and got those trucks under contract, and ready to go. It was amazing. Look, I know people have their complaints about U-Haul, but if you have seen it from my end, these people are dedicated to customer service, flat out. There are dealers who are in it for the quick buck, but they disappear fast. Those who stick around do it because they love the community they serve, and the product they can provide, flat out.

So, lodging. Last night was harrowing. I slept very little. If you looked at the pictures, the place was a wreck. I didn't even post pictures of the bathroom because good lord it was disgusting, but as I said, not the worst place I've stayed. The bathtub was at least level and not at an angle and there were no exposed wires by the shower...and there was a lock. The refrigerator and A/C had something in common. They both ran but kept nothing cool. Thankfully, by morning it was 55 degrees as opposed to the 90 that it was when I rolled in at ten the night before. Unfortunately, my meat and cheese spoiled in the fridge overnight because, like the A/C it kept nothing cool.

Woke up this morning at six local, five in AZ. Hit the road and was in Phoenix by 10:30. The mountain shots are from the drive in from eastern Arizona. It's gorgeous land. I might try to go tubing on the Salt River, which I haven't done in years this weekend.

Arizona is a beautiful area of this nation. The desert combined with soft, struggling trees creates a portrait that would blow the mind of Windslow Homer. I loved the drive in; dreaded the Phoenix area drive. Phoenix area drivers are worse than OKC. People bitch about LA, but LA is harmless. They are crazy, but not reckless, the genuinely look for other drivers. Same goes for Chicago. Same, actually goes for NYC, and I've driven them all. Phoenix drivers just like to stay in the same lane, and they'll run your ass over if you get in their way, and goddamnit that's ok because they're Americans and can do what they want.

I must recollect this image. As I drove through Payson, AZ, there was a guy walking on the side of the state highway: Cargo pants, A-frame t-shirt, and a gun holstered on his right hip.

Back to the track of the trip and the pictures and karma of my previous night. My first stop was the library. Whenever people arrive somewhere new, they look for free wi-fi. They immediately go to Starbucks, or Panera, or some such commercial dump where they make you buy something to get the wi-fi, supposedly, for free. We pay taxes. The library is supported by taxes. They have wi-fi. Go in there, and hook it up. That's what I did in Las Vegas, NM; it's what I did in Tempe.

Why did I do this? Well, I needed a hotel. The fact of the matter was I'll be here a few days and I needed to shave before my next interview. So I hopped on Priceline.

This brings me to the other pictures, not mountains, which are my current lodgings. After waking up this morning and seeing unidentifiable stains on my bed sheets, I tried my old friend Priceline. Some how, I landed a hacienda at Cottonwoods resorts in Scottsdale for $37 a night. Twenty bucks less than what I paid for last night's lodgings. Although I think Sam Shepard would love last night's lodgings as the set for _Fool for Love_ and lord knows there was gun fire.

So this explains the interviews. I'm working on material, which since I have the next day or two off, I'll be posting blogs that are purely test material for the book. Done and

Out,

Luke

Tonight's hotel

So here's where I'm staying. Pulled into Gallup, NM thinking I could get a room, rest a bit and then get into Phoenix. Nope. There's a rodeo in town and all the rooms are booked. Thankfully this one had some vacancies...not sure why. Ah...tis a grand place. I took the plastic wrap from the box housing my whole wheat cheese and crackers to put over the TV remote. It's sticky. Funny though, it's not the worst place I've ever stayed.

Interview went well today. Will try to fill in and update tomorrow. Pretty tired, gotta another interview in Phoenix tomorrow. Drove down I-25, and I saw a big smoke plume from the wild fires near Los Alamos. It's crazy, huge, expansive, whatever grand term you can think of. Kinda sad. Finally, get ready for mass nuclear hysteria. There were lots of advertisements on the radio for iodine packs, to prepare for nuclear leaks.

Amarillo

Yesterday was a lot of driving. Thought maybe I'd try to get to New Mexico, but realized it'd be better to crash in Amarillo where I'd be a couple hours away from my next interview. Man though, was I beat, and tired. The road does it to you. Especially when most of the roads are straight. I keep thinking my GPS is broken because it's always showing one long purple line of road.

Started in Kansas yesterday, and drove south. Kansas grew on me as I traveled. The south of Kansas, was actually less of a straight line. Lots of rolling hills, nice curves. It's very green at this time of year, and there were huge swaths of cattle land filled with cows. On the road I passed the National Teachers Hall of Fame. Not the last museum/hall of fame I'd see. That was not the last interesting museum I'd see. Once I hit Oklahoma, I saw the national wrestling hall of fame, and the national cowboy hall of fame, and once I went through Amarillo, I passed the quarter horse hall of fame/museum. Place looked really nice. It looked new. I'm not sure if it's new, it sure looks like it. Either way, people must really like quarter horses because they put a load of scratch into this place.

From Oklahoma City on, this is a drive I am used to from my days traveling back to Dayton from ASU. Oklahoma gets a bad wrap. The east of OK is gorgeous: Rolling hills, streams, green, amber waves, the whole nine yards. Tulsa is there, and Tulsa is a great city too. Lots to do, doesn't have the metropolitan congestion though, and I'm sure if I lived there there would be plenty to do around town, and then a quick ride out of the city would have me golfing shortly thereafter. Even after Tulsa, west of OK City, the countryside still has a charm that makes me look sharp for tumbleweeds. It feels old west. Not a fan of OK City though. I guess I'm less a fan of their drivers. The many times I've passed through OK city, it has never failed to yield drivers who can't seem to tell that there are other drivers on the highway. There's an ethos in their driving that reminds me of something you'd see on the track at Talladega. Once beyond OK City, driving gets better, and the scenery is back to fields high with grass or wheat, and lots of rolled hay bails.

I thought Amarillo had changed a bit. On previous drives, this stretch from OK City to Albuquerque was what I considered a dead radio area. There were no sports stations, and forget picking up NPR. But as a testimony for the great hegemony that is ESPN, it is impossible not to pick up an affiliate of the mother ship. However, traveling along the panhandle of Texas,I picked up an NPR station. I was thrilled. Yet, right before entering Amarillo, I switched back to ESPN. They went to commercial, I flipped back to NPR, and its signal in Amarillo had been taken over by a Christian rock station. Silly me for believing informative public broadcasting might take root in this area.

The radio is fun to track the stories of local talk show. It's all conservative talk. I hear El Rushbo and Hannity. One tactic I notice they pull a lot is when people call in and want to disagree, immediately they ask a question that is very leading, and the person is automatically on the defensive and not allowed to make their point until they answer the unanswerable question: "Why do you want to punish rich people for being rich? Why are you a socialist? Why do you spread so much hatred?" I think they likely have a list of these fallacious questions that the jump to right away.

The most abhorrent thing I heard was a station in Kansas, don't remember the station, I had it for five minutes and it was gone. The host and her call-in guest talked about closing women's health clinics that they presume offer abortions. The man mentioned the killing of Dr. George Tiller as a blessing and sending a strong message that Kansas will not tolerate doctors who kill babies. The host agreed saying it was a blessed event. I couldn't believe I was hearing it, and was stunned. Then a call came in, I pulled over, answered it, and by the time I was done the station was out of range.

Food is still good in the cooler, keeps costs down. As people find out I'm writing for U-Haul they're asking me to get them discounts. Some from people I've not heard from in a long, long time. Suddenly they want a favor. Sorry, can't land any discounts. And it's not a card I like pulling. I've rented my fair share of U-Hauls, even had a storage space with them, but I never tried angling for discounts.

All right, gotta hit the road. Into Phoenix tomorrow. Not sure where I'll be tonight. I have an interview at 5 PM in Las Vegas, NM. That will likely last two hours, and then it is a long, long drive into Phoenix, a little less longer to Flagstaff. The nice thing is that by tomorrow, I'll have lots two hours, as Phoenix is now on the same time as the Pacific coast. So if I make it to Flag tonight, it will be between 10 and 12.

Hopefully can land a cord for the camera tonight or tomorrow. Then I'll have pictures.

Luke

A note on road burn

I realized after I said it that I should define road burn. It's a term I got from Rollins in his book _Get in the Van_. It's something we all feel from being on the road. For some it's three days, for others three months or more. Last year I suffered from it. It did 3.5 weeks in Florida and then bolted up to NJ for Summer Scholars, and I was doing great. Loved the Bohemic life. When Summer Scholars ended, I moved to DeKalb to start at NIU, but I had no apartment. So for the next 2.5 weeks, I moved from hotel to hotel, waiting to be approved for my apartment. I was still doing well. Liked life. The breaking point came when I had to move out of my apartment for an asbestos scare. I lived four days in a motel, during homecoming weekend, and I just wanted to be back in my bed. So, I'm a long way off from road burn, but I am acutely aware of it, and will be sure not to fall victim to it.

10-4 good buddy. Checking in here from Topeka, KS. What a day. I went through two states I've never visited before, and was duly impressed by one, and meh, about the other. On the other hand I was totally stood up for an interview, but that's not the first time such things have happened. I'm rolling on to New Mexico from here tomorrow. Then onto Phoenix.

Where to start? I'm no where close to road burn yet, which is good. I'm really pumped to be back on the road. What's a summer without crossing into every state of this great nation? I've been doing it a lot summer to summer. While all of this sounds glamorous there are endless cluster bombs to deal with. Still in the end, it's like no life I'd rather live.

The first thought on my mind is my parents. We traveled a lot as I was growing up. Our family lived in Wisconsin and we lived in Ohio, so there were multiple twelve plus hour drives to see the family. That sounds bad, but as kids, we dealt. We had walkmans, and lots of books. When we got bored, we'd stare out the windows as dad pumped NPR throughout the family van. What I thought of today, and last night were: showers and packing. As I packed, I meticulously rolled reach article of clothing. It's a trick I learned from Dad to conserve space in a bag. Laugh if you wish but all my boxers are tightly rolled and that added space for the copious research material. And showers...? Well, my dad gave me an article (darn near ten years ago) the Air Force published for those travelling. It pointed out that new locations mean new pollen. Get it off you as soon as you can. I've been cursed with awful allergies, and the first thing I do when I arrive somewhere new is shower. It doesn't guarantee no allergies but it helps.

And then I saw another great moment that made me again recall my parents. I went to the hotel pool (more on that in a bit). There was a family of four splashing around. I just wanted to soak in the hot tub because God knows my joints are dying for a spa. So the family splashing around was adorable. It was clear one girl could swim better than that other. The youngest one loved jumping into her father's arms. It was always, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, catch me!" And he would. It reminded me of time when my family went on vacation to Doore County, WI. The hotel we stayed at had an indoor pool, and my parents convinced me to get on the diving board. Which, I did, and then froze. I must have been four or five. I would not jump because I could not touch the bottom. My mom said, "Dad can't touch the bottom." And at that point, my dad didn't cease to be Superman. He was Superman. The man defied the deep, and I jumped, but only because my mom said it was safe. After that I've never been scared of water.

Okay, as for the day. Got up early. Walked to Enterprise (which is soooooooooooo much better than Hertz). Got there, and they didn't have the economy car I reserved. At Hertz, they would charge me extra for the upgrade. Enterprise said, the upgrade is free. I picked the Dodge Challenger...it was the car I drove in Vermont. Well, when the lady at the desk asked me about my trip, she saw the car needed an oil change, and they upgraded me to the Ford Fusion no extra cost. Nice car. Good gas mileage.

I took off to Iowa. This was the first time I've been in Iowa. One of the few US states I've not visited. Iowa is cool, subtly. The entire state's Interstate Highways are rolling farmlands, unlike anything I have seen before. The highways are devoid of McDonald's or Burger Kings or Exxons for every ten miles. However, my GPS was a straight purple line for 200 miles. So the drive is not adventurous, but the scenery is unbelievable. I wish I had better words to describe the state, but it is a verdant, fecund land that is unmatched with any state I have been to. It is a land worked and loved by the people.

Then I crossed into Missouri. I'm not a fan of Missouri as I'm not a fan of Lanford Wilson. That is, I see the country and I resist it but I can't help but fall in love with it. That's how I am with Lanford. His writing style and mine are polar opposites, but damn, when he's on, he is on. _Talley's Folly_, _Rhymers of Eldrich_, _Madness of Lady Bright_, _Hot L Baltimore_, and so on: unbelievable plays that I will never, ever be able to match as a writer. Missouri is a state that has pristine beauty only to be spoiled by Kentacohuts every two miles. (Kentacohuts are Kentucky Fried Chicken, Taco Bell, and Pizza Hut franchises all in one building.). Outside of that, Missouri is gorgeous, and for what it's worth, Lanford's ethos and pathos in _The Fifth of July_ lands so much more while driving through Missouri.

My first stop was in Bethany, Missouri. I was supposed to meet with a dealer, a U-Haul dealer, there. He was not there. The shop was closed and hour before it was supposed to. Eh. The place has been a U-Haul dealer for 55 years, and this place is a picker's dream. It's not in the best repair. But, man, it was trip down memory lane. The place is a mecca. But I thought of Bethany, and I keep wanting to say Bethany, WV, where I went to soccer camp when I was in high school. And it reaffirms to me the bonds this nation has that I can step into two towns of the same name, different makeups, and be awed by the fact that they share a lot, a charm that says, names are the same, make up is different, but it's still the same country.

I waited for about forty minutes and then hit the road for my hotel in Topeka. This is another state I've not visited. Again, Kansas far surpasses any place I've been in terms of farmland. Just, freaking gorgeous. When I arrived at my hotel, I was a bit nervous. It didn't look like much. I'm in the Ramada downtown. This is ironic because it's less than a mile from the Expo Center which I cite as the location for the final scene in my play _The Sublime Abortion of Man_, now renamed _A Great Fresco of Stupidity_. The neighborhood is suspect. My best neighbors are two blocks down at the Shawnee County Correctional Institute. Side note, when I turned on the TV, there was a COPS episode (or some such TV show) on that was set in Topeka, Kansas. However! The hotel is really awesome and has earned numerous awards from Ramada's national office, and rightfully so. The place is large and in charge. Multiple conventions and weddings are here. Yet it's quiet. It's right off the Interstate so traveling to New Mexico will be easy tomorrow.

As for the drive, I'm trying to live like the Area Field Managers of U-Haul did: Find cheap hotels, and eat out of a cooler. I did this for the first book, and quite liked it. So my cooler today consisted of apples, cheese sticks, nuts, turkey, cheese, wheat bread, and leftover grilled turkey loin from last night. I arrived at the hotel full and feeling no desire to eat crap. I'll keep this going all trip, and try to keep costs low. I think this is in the spirit of what built the company. The Area Field Managers would cover vast tracks of land and do it on what they bought at the grocery. It's a neat life, and clean living, and one I guess we, myself included get too far away from on the road.

Pictures will come soon. I forgot my camera cord, but I'm gonna try to buy one at Best Buy tomorrow.

Out,

Luke

Well, I'm getting ready for my road trip. It will start next week. You can follow me through this blog. At this point I'm not sure how long it will last, it could be two weeks, could be a one month. We'll see.

Each day I will post pictures and do an update from the road. If you're politically sensitive, I can't promise that my political views won't slip in, but I'm honestly going to try to stick to the facts of the trip. It's life on the road, and more importantly about life. Please stay tuned.

Five People Who Should Be Fired

Given the continual bad news pertaining to jobs in this country, I figure I’ll point out five people who should be out of jobs. There are of course the easy targets, the entire cast of Jersey Shore comes to mind, Kate Gosslein, and Heidi Montag – the last two, I’m not really sure what their jobs are but they’re getting money. I could also swipe at Glenn Beck, whom it was revealed earned 23 million dollars last year. Glenn Inc. sounds like a lucrative grassroots political movement. But those are easy targets.

Scott Van Pelt – He’s the goofy Sports Center anchor whose lanky, awkward body and bald head have kept viewers laughing over the years. Fine for television, but over the course of a two hour radio program it gets old. His propensity to talk about anything but sports, usually whatever is on his mind that second makes his show devolve into banter reminiscent of frat boys at five in the morning screaming lines from Gladiator. What’s worse, Van Pelt was recently given an extra hour for his show. His co-host Ryen Russillo is actually really good, and I’ve been happy to see his guest spots transition into regular hosting duties. When Van Pelt is out, the show is actually fascinating. It’s depressing though to see Russillo relegated to sidekick duties when Van Pelt returns with his infantile wit. The show is marketed as breaking the mold, a common trope that says, “We don’t know what we’re doing.” For years, Van Pelt would appear on Dan Patrick’s radio show and beg Patrick to talk to the radio folks to get him his own show. It just sounded pathetic and desperate. In Chicago, we only get Van Pelt’s show for an hour. It makes me shoot down the dial to 670 AM for an hour. When I’m on the road, I tune my radio to right wing talk shows rather than subject myself to the insipid banality of Van Pelt. He occupies a timeslot that used to be Dan Patrick’s and Mike Tirico’s: Great sports journalists who did substantive interviews with sport’s top names. Van Pelt just makes me feel like I should be doing keg stands; Lord knows listening to him makes me feel like I lost the same amount of brain cells from doing such a drinking binge.

John Thain – This guy is probably little known, but he’s the former CEO of Merrill-Lynch. Yes that same Merrill-Lynch that went belly up due to toxic assets and had to merge with Bank of America, for which BOA took a large chunk of TARP money. When Merrill joined with BOA, Thain held all his top executives accountable for their mishaps by doling out exorbitant bonuses to the dumb-dumbs who caused his company’s failure. So for being complicit in one of the most deplorable economic meltdowns in this country’s history, Thain has been named the CEO of CIT-Group, another company that messed the bed during the banking crisis. But hey, if George Bush can get a second term, it doesn’t surprise me that someone like John Thain gets another chance to bury another financial institution.

Tim Tebow – With the NFL draft coming up, it looks like the former Florida QB will be drafted in the second round as a quarterback. His obstinacy at demanding to play quarterback is embarrassing him. His pro day could have been called flight of the wounded ducks. On top of it, Tebow likes to allude to the fact that God has destined him for great things as an NFL quarterback. Tebow’s increased proselytizing is getting old. The Super Bowl commercial with his mom felt more like an ad for E-Harmony than a family values commercial. When it was done I felt like I should call him Oedipus. When he took the Wonderlic test at the NFL combine, he requested that everyone in the room join in a group prayer before they start. Someone in the room promptly told him to shut the (blank) up. He needs to remember that Jesus told us to keep quiet counsel with God and not be like the hypocrites who profess their faith in the public forum. His supporters in the media say he’s a high character guy who will add to a locker room. He seems like a nice guy and I can’t disagree with that; but the last time I checked there was no position out of the twenty-two that take the field that is listed as “high character guy”. In Florida, he’s known as Jesus. If some team is dumb enough to draft him as a quarterback two other names come to mind that aren’t JC: David Klingler and Andre Ware.

Jay Bybee – This guy wrote the infamous torture memos under Bush. The legal memoranda essentially said, “Yeah, there are the Geneva Conventions, but if these guys don’t die, it’s all good. Oh, and their organs can’t fail…too badly.” I’m paraphrasing. When he and Jon Yoo have faced criticism for the memos, they said, “We offered a legal justification for a course of action our clients wanted to pursue.” That’s legalese for, “We were following orders.” Didn’t work so well at Nuremberg. But little ethical problems like okay-ing torture were no obstacle for Bybee to be appointed to an appellate court judgeship. However, the memos did not come out until after his appointment. The man should be disbarred, impeached and removed from the bench. That means accountability though, and the current administration doesn’t have the stomach to actually include that word in their lexicon.

The Texas Board of Education – According to a USA Today article the Texas Board of Education does not consider Thomas Jefferson a great thinker of the Revolution. Moreover, our country is no longer a “democracy” but a “constitutional republic.” These are a few of the upcoming changes to curricula and textbooks Texas students will face in the next ten years. The Board of Education will also remove “capitalist” and “capitalism” because those have negative connotation…duh. But they will be replaced by the term “free market” because hey, you can’t spell “freedom” without “free”. The moves are clearly part of a conservative agenda to indoctrinate future voters into an ideology that is dubious according to the historical record. They say they’re doing it to counteract increased liberalism in textbooks. By changing from a democratic nation to a constitutional republic, students will learn that a true patriot is in support of the republic, therefore a Republican. And democracies are not worth supporting, therefore so are Democrats. The removal of Jefferson came, according to David Knowles' article on AOL.com, because current teaching asks students to: "explain the impact of Enlightenment ideas from John Locke, Thomas Hobbes, Voltaire, Charles de Montesquieu, Jean Jacques Rousseau and Thomas Jefferson on political revolutions from 1750 to the present." Now the new curriculum will ask: "Explain the impact of the writings of John Locke, Thomas Hobbes, Voltaire, Charles de Montesquieu, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Thomas Aquinas, John Calvin and Sir William Blackstone." Aquinas and Calvin are clearly added to give religious grounding to our nation’s principles. The biggest insult is that Sir William Blackstone, who lived during the Revolution, was a British judge whose work was eventually repudiated by Jefferson. Apparently the dude who wrote the Declaration of Independence deserves no credit for freeing us from the Great Britain and building our nation’s laws, but a British judge Jefferson deemed as too conservative does.

Sean Hannity goes up this week

A friend of mine, Jude, will perform Sean Hannity Goes to Heaven this week at Texas A&M. Let's hope he'll survive.

Sullivan has had great audiences. The reviewer liked the show.

The Kicker opens in two weeks at LSU.

The Only Kid in School Who Liked Megadeth will be published this month in _Spirits_. Check out Viral Cat for another play, A Bon Chat, Bon Rat.

I've so slacked on this blog. That will change. I'll try to do three posts a week. So please tell your friends. I'll also post on americanche.blogspot.com

Snoogins.

Luke

Sean Hannity Goes to Heaven - a play by Luke Krueger

(Stage is dark. Bright light slowly floods the stage, blinding the audience. A figure steps into the light so we see only his outline. The light fades to normal stage lights. The man is Sean Hannity. Attached to Hannity is the Statue of Liberty perched on his right shoulder, much like the cover to his book _Deliver Us from Evil_. To his left is St. Peter at a desk. The desk has a computer and is piled high with thick folders. St. Peter looks tired, worn, and resembles something of a young office temp)

PETER: Mr. Hannity. Have a seat. My name is--

HANNITY (moving to Peter): Oh, you need no introduction, sir. I'm a big fan. Big, big fan. (Shakes St. Peter's hand).

PETER: Right. Please, have a seat.

HANNITY (sitting): You look younger than I thought.

PETER: Perk of the job, makes up for the ungodly hours.

HANNITY: It's nice to have you here.

PETER: I don't follow.

HANNITY: This is my show right?

PETER: No. It's heaven.

HANNITY: That's what a lot of my viewers think of the show. I've got the E-mails to prove it.
(laughs)

PETER: Uh-huh. Mr. Hann, um Hannity, right?

HANNITY: Call me Sean.

PETER (looking at a file): That's against protocol.

HANNITY: Sure, I understand. Can I call you Pete?

PETER (doesn't look up from the file): Absolutely not. (sets the file down) It says here you were a political talk show host.

HANNITY: I like to say soldier in the Army of God/freedom fighter.

PETER: Well, let's stick with talk show host. What exactly is that.

HANNITY: You never saw it?

PETER: No. (pats the stack of files) I've got enough to do.

HANNITY: Well basically, I engaged guests in political discourse to get to the heart of political
issues that are important to the country.

PETER: And which country is this?

HANNITY: You don't know?

PETER: Frankly they're all kind of the same, and up here it makes little difference.

HANNITY: Oh, well, um, the United States of America.

PETER: Oh, yes, I know that one. We get a lot of people from there. Nice folks, but a little fat if you ask me. Um, what's that on your shoulder?

HANNITY: Lady Liberty.

PETER: A memento of your wife?

HANNITY: You don't know Lady Liberty?

PETER: The name sounds familiar. I think that was the stage name for a stripper I admitted not too long ago.

(Pause. Hannity is a little uncomfortable)

PETER: I'm not saying your wife is...

HANNITY: No, of course, I get what you mean. Now, I wanted to ask you --

PETER: Let me ask the questions. There are a number of folks I need to get to before lunch. So to start: What do you think your greatest accomplishments in life were?

HANNITY: My show.

PETER: I mean something that made for a better planet.

HANNITY: My show.

PETER: Besides that. Deeds. What did you do besides talk?

HANNITY: I did my darndest to make sure America was the Christian country it's always been; I made sure the second ammendment was protected, and I made sure hard working families kept the money they earned and that it didn't go to pork projects of the federal government.

PETER: God, guns, and gold?

HANNITY: Sure.

PETER: Sort of like Columbus.

HANNITY: Yeah! Just like that. By the way, I noticed on my way in that he wasn't with the fifteenth century crowd.

PETER: Yeah...how 'bout that.

HANNITY: He got his own suite?

PETER: Let's start with the glory of God, part. How did you work for that?

HANNITY: I lead the defense when secularists declared war on Christmas. I fought to make sure kids could pray in school.

PETER: They can I thought.

HANNITY: Well, sure, but it's not mandated everyday.

PETER: What if someone's not Christian?

HANNITY: I was trying to prevent that. I was trying to make sure God was protected in our schools, in our courts, in our homes, across this great nation.
(beat)

PETER: Let me get this straight...you were defending God?

HANNITY: Someone has to.

PETER: Someone has to...stand up for...the Almighty?

HANNITY: The liberals won't.

PETER: Do you think, God is so weak that he needs to be defended like a little brother who's getting bullied on the playground?

HANNITY: No. It's just...I saw God disappearing from America.

PETER: Isn't America a continent?

HANNITY: You know what I mean?

PETER: No I don't. I've got a Sunday tee time with God on the links every week. He's not disappearing.

HANNITY: What's his handicap?

PETER: I'm still not clear, why did you have to fight for God? Is he so weak?

HANNITY: The US is a land founded by God-fearing Christians --

PETER: No it wasn't.

HANNITY: Yes it was. And I was saving my country from falling out of favor of the Almighty. Don't you start telling me what God had intended for my country.

PETER: Didn't you read that one little part in the Bible, where Jesus said, "My kingdom is not of this world."

HANNITY: That's Old Testament. It doesn't count.

PETER: It's in John.

HANNITY: Oh.

PETER: Hmm.

HANNITY: What?

PETER: It says here you titled a book, _Deliver Us from Evil_.

HANNITY: It was a best seller.

PETER: It's also level two blasphemy.

HANNITY: What!

PETER: You took a piece of the Lord's prayer as a title to sell books.

HANNITY: That's not blasphemy.

PETER: You want me to show you the regs? (beat) Let's just keep moving. The second amendment, as I read it here is about arming a well regulated militia.

HANNITY: It's a little more trickier than that.

PETER: Did you serve?

HANNITY: Huh?

PETER: Were you in the Army, or militia or whatever?

HANNITY: Oh, no.

PETER: Did your country have a draft?

HANNITY: Yes, we did.

PETER: How'd you not get drafted?
(short pause)

HANNITY: The funny thing about the second ammendment is that it goes beyond that narrow interpretation, and it guarentees all Americans can have a gun to protect them and their families.

PETER: And protect God?

HANNITY: Well, sure, they're protecting the safety and lives of their fellow citizens so they can lead a wholesome life in service to God. So in a way, sure, I was making sure that God was protected.

PETER: So you wanted everyone to have a gun?

HANNITY: Law abiding citizens, yes.

PETER: How do you know?

HANNITY: Know what?

PETER: That they'll always be law abiding citizens. I mean one day, couldn't someone just break the law and use the gun illegally?

HANNITY: Sure, but that's impossible to ever know and just --

PETER: The chance you have to take? Couldn't you just not let people have guns.

HANNITY: See that's the problem. Then only the criminals would have guns.

PETER: And the police.

HANNITY: Sure, but they can't be everywhere. What if someone and their family were killed.

PETER: They'd come here.

HANNITY: Is that right?

PETER: You saying Heaven isn't a good place to be?

HANNITY: No! That's...I'm not saying Heaven is a...a...a bad place but why should we hasten
someone's return to the Father? Don't they have a right to life?

PETER: Oh God, you're one of them.

HANNITY: Well, but do you get what I'm saying? About the guns?

PETER: No.

HANNITY: We need them so people can be safe.

PETER: Don't guns kill people?

HANNITY: Exactly, that's how they keep us safe.

PETER: Sounds like doublespeak.

HANNITY: Well, we'll agree to disagree.

PETER: No, we won't. That's not an option. It's double speak.

HANNITY: People need to hunt. How 'bout that?

PETER: Fine. Let's move on.

HANNITY: I just want you to know the important facts about this issue.

PETER: Why?

HANNITY: So you understand that my intention behind fighting for the second amendment was
for the good.

PETER: Moving on. Pork projects. Explain.

HANNITY: I wanted people to keep the money they earned and not be taxed by an inefficient government that would spend it on silly wasteful programs.

PETER: Like war.

HANNITY: No war is necessary.

PETER: That's good.

HANNITY: What?

PETER: Well, you never served in the military so you have no ulterior purposes when war starts.

HANNITY: I can explain my lack of service --

PETER: It's okay. So if the people...wait, it says you were in favor of tax cuts for the wealthiest of your country.

HANNITY: They earned it. God's blessings fell upon them as demonstrated by their good fortune. They should keep it.

PETER: So the poor are being punished by God?

HANNITY: Yes, but they can work their way back into his favor and get rich.

PETER: You never heard, "A cammel has a better chance of getting through a needle's eye than a rich man does getting into heaven"?

HANNITY: I made it policy not to read Islamo-fascist material.

PETER: Jesus said it.

HANNITY: Look, they have a right to their money to do with it as they want. And rich people aren't all bad guys. They donate to charity. It's great for tax breaks.

PETER: So they got more tax breaks on top of the others by donating to charity?

HANNITY: Great system.

PETER: Seems disingenuous. (to himself) God, I wish for the days of render onto Caesar that which is Caesar's. (To Hannity) So what other wasteful programs did you fight against?

HANNITY: Socialized medicine.

PETER: What's that?

HANNITY: It's socialism.

PETER: And...?

HANNITY: It's bad.

PETER: Why?

HANNITY: Because it's socialism.

PETER: Why is socialized medicine bad?

HANNITY: Because it's socialist.

PETER: Can it kill people?

HANNITY: Sure. That's what socialism does. It's an incidious dogma that looks to wipe from the earth capitalism.

PETER: Capitalism is good?

HANNITY: Bestowed on us by God himself.

PETER: I don't recall the word capitalism in the Bible.

HANNITY: You look; it's in there.

PETER: So explain socialized medicine. I'm not familiar.

HANNITY: Basically, it would tax all the rich people in order to give every person healthcare. It's asinine.

PETER: How?

HANNITY: They want healthcare, they can get a job that gives them healthcare.

PETER: That's a bit of an oversimplification. I just processed a guy who died; worked eighty hours a week, at three jobs, and the companies he worked for wouldn't give him full time hours because then they'd have to pay for health insurance.

HANNITY: Of course, the companies have a bottom line and a responsibility to their stock holders to turn a profitt. That's capitalism.

PETER: It killed him.

HANNITY: Look, I'm not going to get into the economics; you obviously are unaware of how this all works, and I understand because you got bigger things to take care of. But this is the best system we have and people deserve to keep the money they make, and not be taxed to death.

PETER: Except for a war.

HANNITY: Right. We need those.

PETER (jotting down notes in the file): So let me get this right: Your entire life was spent making sure people had guns, which kill people, and also making sure people didn't have health insurance, which could have saved people.

HANNITY: Now, who's over simplifying.

PETER: Excuse me?

HANNITY: Look, I don't need to get dressed down by some office temp. There's no way you are St. Peter.

PETER: You see the name on the door? I'm the real deal, hoss.

HANNITY: Oh, God! You're a John Kerry Lover! Jesus, you Libs, just can't get it through your thick skulls about issues that are more complicated than you will ever know.

PETER: I know quite a bit.

HANNITY: You don't know about America.

PETER: Because we don't care about that here! Mr. Hannity, I'm sorry, but you don't make a strong case for entry. It seems like you spent your whole life making a name for yourself on God's coat tails, and making sure people are expedited to death.

HANNITY: Is this Heaven or Nancy Pelosi's girdle? I don't have to sit here and take this.

PETER: You're right you don't.

HANNITY: You liberal pinheads have destroyed everything. The US, Heaven, everything.

PETER: There's the door, Michael will escort you down.
(Hannity leaps across the table and grabs Peter by his shirt)

HANNITY: You listen to me. I'm Sean Hannity. That might not mean much to you but on Earth it sure as hell does. Now, I'm not going to sit here and let you tell me I'm a good or bad man. Who the hell do you think you are? You go out there, and you talk to anybody from America, who's died in the last twenty years, and I guarentee they will tell you to let me in to Heaven.

(Peter effortlessly removes Hannity's hands. He holds him by the wrists. Hannity is in pain)

PETER: The thing is Heaven is not a democracy. We don't admit by vote, and frankly, if I go out there, and ask of you, no one remembers who you are because in Heaven your deeds on Earth are like bile here. We have no interest in it, and people soon forget the petty jibes and twaddle you kicked around on the idiot box for so long.

(Peter releases Hannity)

PETER: Now get out of my office.

HANNITY: Fine, I get it. The liberals took over.

PETER: Get out!

HANNITY: I will. This isn't Heaven. This doesn't represent the God I know.

PETER: Of course not, because you invented some non-existent God to sell books and get ratings.

HANNITY: Oh, piss off you liberal pile of horse crap. I'm gone.
(Starts to exit)

PETER (Pulling a post-it note from the file): Mr. Hannity. Leave the Statue. I've got a post-it note here from up on high that says you dishonored the symbol.

HANNITY: Make me!

PETER: Do we really have to do this again?

(Peter starts chasing Hannity around the office, until Peter finally trips Hannity. With Hannity on the ground, Peter removes the statue from Hannity's shoulder and places it on the desk. Hannity gets up)

HANNITY: Fine, I didn't want it anyway. It's French. It was made by a guttless, coward Frenchman. You can have it.

(Hannity exits. From offstage we hear him shout)

HANNITY (o.s.): Heaven's full of a bunch of liberal bastards!

PETER (sitting back down behind his desk. Shakes his head. Picks up a phone): Janice, who's next? / How many are there? / Forty? / Yeah, I know. That is a lot for one day / Let's just fast track them / No, I think He'll approve. They're babies, and their moms didn't have access to prenatal care. Just have the paperwork for me to sign when I get back from lunch.
(blackout)

Onward You Tea Baggin' Soldiers...taint what it used to be.

Editor's note: The following was written by my good friend Emmett Sheridan. It is posted here with his permission. It's appropriate for the week. Keep in mind, all the people who were enraged by the tax rate, must remember that the current tax rate is that of the Bush administration from eight years ago. Furthermore, Obama's latest budget plan will cut taxes for all Americans but the wealthiest 1%. So for all the dumb mo-mo's who were waving tea bags...ha!

Onward Sons of Liberty!!

Much press has been made about these modern day Tea Parties springing up randomly across the nation, and their call for a new, more responsible and smaller government. I say onward with the call from our modern day Sons of Liberty. Hopefully, however, we can have a more peaceful form of protest than the original Sons of Liberty who burned tax collection houses and killed tax collectors. They brought forth a group now known as the Founding Fathers, and now this new age group must try to restore the nation back to the Founding Fathers intentions, especially to the nation envisioned by Thomas Jefferson.

The United States of Thomas Jefferson sounds like a little slice of heaven to scores of Americans today. He was a guy so opposed to a strong central government that he was not invited to help write the Constitution! Jefferson was in favor of a great nation with large agrarian landowners with the average, hardworking Americans working their own small plot of land given to them from their caring, godlike landlords. Slavery, obviously, would be a necessary evil in this situation because of the backbreaking demands of these landed estates. The fine outstanding landed aristocracy would be so pure that they would have the power of the country resting in their hands, and they would not have to worry about taxes because that would burden their daily routines. If the United States was forced into war then each landowner would conscript their local populations to fight in a loose confederation led by knights in cockade hats. What a noble idea for a country?!? It worked well in Europe for 900 years, so it definitely would have settled in nicely in the United States of fiefdoms.

Unfortunately for the United States, Jefferson and his vision succumbed to the calls from James Madison’s Constitution, and joined in this federal union that suppressed the natural feudal rights of man. Jefferson did this in a noble effort to make the U.S. a stronger nation. However, Jefferson was so blinded by this golden calf of a document that he expanded the power and took liberties with the Constitution, even became of defender of it as President! He did all of this under the guise of “helping the country”. In fact, he betrayed the true callings of our Founding Fathers and sent the country down a path of ruin that we are forced to fight against now, two hundred years later.

These new Tea Parties are finally bringing to light this path of ruin, it is a shame it has taken two hundred years to readdress these problems. The United States is such a horrendous place to call home in this modern age with repressive taxes, no freedom or security from enemies (foreign and domestic), and a brutal, democratically elected representative government that cannot supply its people with basic necessities. I have a hard time living in a place where I can drive down paved roads, access to medical services, and drink water without the fear of dying.

The Tea Parties have shown how repressive a democratic federal government, with relatively low taxes, can ruin a nation. In fact, why can’t our nation be more like Somalia, where there are no public schools, taxes, or any other burden placed on its people by a federal government. In Somalia, there exists a true capitalistic system, which is, apparently, what our country was founded on before being blinded by the Constitution and the subsequent freedoms allowed by it.

Message to Glenn Beck.

I sent this to him. I don't expect a reply. But, hey...

http://www.salon.com/opinion/kamiya/2009/04/07/richard_poplowski/

Sieg heil, Glenn. Bravo.

I am thrilled to see Rush “el Duce” Limbaugh do his best imitation of a House of Pain song and “jump around” as an adoring CPAC crowd chanted his name. It was a perfect sign of the times. The de facto leader of the Republican party who makes elected congressmen tremble if they cross his path, stood proud. Rush was an apropos symbol for the Republican party at this time: a corpulent, old, rich white man, bedecked in the black shirt, reflective of 1920s Italy, in love with the chant of his own name, tells America “Welcome back to fascist Spain/Italy- you don‘t have money? Do us a favor and die.” And he says this as he sits in his Florida plantation.

Rush’s message, no opposition other than “no”. Says Rush, “Do we have another plan? No we don’t need to. This is socialism! Capitalism is perfect.” Yes it’s perfect and we see it in failed banks that can’t seem to keep their fly up while raping American home owners who lost their jobs while the banks go off on luxury junkets or remodel their offices. Capitalism is perfect because GM is failing, a reward for deregulation and antagonism towards making the auto industry look towards the future of green cars. Let’s not forget that conservatives in public opinion polls, can’t score above the failing median they’ve established for public schools in No Child Left Behind; and that would make them a failing institution.

Keep licking Rush’s boots Michael Steele. He can’t afford to tip or pay for the polish. All Rush ever did was recite ideology. He never really labored like some poor schmuck at GM because we all know the schmuck at GM joined a union and that’s un-American. Which leads to the private sector. I keep hearing the private sector will save us. Really? The private sector can’t muster enough money on the street for a New York City hotdog. Citi stock is worth more than my life…a dollar a share. Who else is going to infuse this country with capital? Rush? Good luck. Strip a dime from him and he’ll call you an unwed mother who wants to abort babies….even if you’re a guy he’ll accuse you thus.

Then there is Tommy Franks and the Military Channel. This is why I will cancel cable. Tommy Franks, the general who toppled Saddam Hussein, goes on and on and on about leadership in the military: it’s because of integrity that he feels great leadership in the military is so solid and will last fore eons, and he sleeps well because of said leadership…then some loudmouth voiceover tells me to checkout Golden Coral’s touring seafood or some such trope. Really? I was this close to buying into our leadership, and some idiot stamps it with corporate sponsorship. Hey Tommy, donate the money you took for that ad to the four thousand dead soldiers’ families who fought to find WMD’s and instead are now your launching pad to shill for Golden Coral. You’re already disregarded as an egotistical vessel for policy within the military. Don’t make it so easy, you MacArthur wannabe. If I'm wrong and he did not receive a dime from Golden Coral, I'll eat an NYC hotdog. Ah, but what does it matter? Tomorrow, I'll wake up and at my alma mater, the basketball coach makes more than I, and I hear we won't make the tournament.

Love,
Luke

Break

“He trapped a squirrel.” This was Paula’s answer to my unasked question. “You looked surprised that I was here,” she said.
“I was expecting the police escort,” I replied.
Paula handed me a copy of the Altoona Mirror. “That’s what you get for flying into Blair County Airport. It saves me a drive to Pittsburg, but it also means the only paper I can get last second is the Mirror.”
“I’d rather not see or hear any news for the next week.”
Paula pitched the paper.
I only had one small carryon so we cruised through the tiny municipal airport and made our way to her Accord. She opened the door for me. I hesitated.
“Don’t be weird,” she said. I got in.
I had been to Pennsylvania before, but never in the fall. It’s a simple landscape that Winslow Homer or Fredrick Remington would never capture. It would take an impressionist (and this is from a guy who actively lobbies against the National Endowment for the Arts). Driving up 99, the Pennsylvania mountains were awash in dots of autumn colors that seemed ready to spill over. But then they hit the road, a reminder that nature does have it’s limits. Impressionism could make the demise of those limits possible.
“Yeah, he trapped the squirrel right before you were due to arrive. Like, right when you called the house, he screamed, ‘I got one of the little fuckers!’”
I nodded.
“I know I don’t have to explain, but you’re so quiet over there. Are you weirded out?”
“No,” I answered. This was true. But not because of the obvious moral quandaries. The latest campaign taught me to care little for those; my silence was due to immaturity. Paula and I had hooked up a few times in college before she and George started up. Secretly, behind her back George and I called her Sloppy Seconds.
“Look,” she cleared her throat, “I know what you and George called me.”
Well, shit.
“He told me last night.” I must have looked horrified. “No, it’s cool. It was funny. I mean, I expect nothing less from guys in college. I mean, I’m sure that like back then I would’ve been like horrified, but now, it’s funny. It’s kind of endearing.”
Our past always bothered me. It was supposed to be no strings attached, and for her part she had managed to remain free of any strings.
“You still with your girl?”
“We broke up during the campaign. She wasn‘t happy I was defending the senator.”
“That’s what you get for dating a Republican.” She looked over at me. “There’s that smile.”
“I’m not a Republican,” I answered.
For the rest of the drive she caught me up on the lives of the people from our dorm: Nate and Chrisy were married and expecting their first kid; James was down in New Orleans denying people’s claims for State Farm; Arturo was back in Venezuela working for Hugo Chavez; Jude was gay - everyone but him knew that, so that wasn’t news; and so on. Uncomfortability is best cured by rehashing the past. It makes the present less cumbersome because the people talking never get to it.
Altoona is San Francisco without the Pacific, or the culture…in fact, Altoona is what San Francisco would be if the Pacific dried up and Dan White ruled Harvey Milk’s old district. The streets of the city are lined with three and four story homes sandwiched up and down steep hills. The homes are abandoned though. The great in-town homes of those people who enjoyed lavish excess in the days of railroad booms were now barely shells of themselves. Shards of peeling paint amassed at the base of many homes.
George’s house was just outside of the city limits, an old farmhouse with a mother-in-law home attached to the original structure. A mother-in-law’s home was a brilliantly polite up-your’s and appealed to my political sense of sticking it to people diplomatically. If the mother-in-law wished to move in she got her own house. I could just imagine the son or daughter-in-law guilting the mother-in-law, “We built you your own place. Why are you always hanging around here? Get the hell outta here, you hag!”
We pulled up to the house. Paula shut off the car, opened her door, and said as she exited, “I got into law school,” and then rushed to the field behind the house.
George was in back. Pilgrim his springer spaniel aimlessly wandered the sprawling backyard that once was a field for harvest. George stood next to a ten gallon drum that was filled with water. Behind the can, an animal screeched. George reached down to the screeching and pulled up a live trap that held a squirrel. The squirrel shook the cage, and gnawed at George’s fingers, which were encased in heavy leather gloves.
George looked over at Pilgrim who kept walking into the large tool shed roughly thirty feet from George. “Get over, here,” he called to the dog. Then George noticed us. “’Bout time. Traffic’s not that bad from Blair County.” George put down the cage. “Come here you son of a bitch,” George said as he walked up and hugged me. I was still fixated on Pilgrim, gingerly finding his way over to George.
“Cataract took Pilgrim’s good eye,” he said and lead me over to the can and the squirrel. “Just let me do this really quick and then we’ll go in and get a beer. I’ve caught two of these little bastards today.”
Pilgrim found his way to George and sat quietly at his feet, head bowed, softly sniffing the terrified squirrel in the cage. In one, unflinching move George lifted the live-trap and shoved it into the water within the ten-gallon drum. He was dressed in heavy flannel, but it was easy to see that George’s muscles tensed as he fought to keep the cage underwater. “They have small lungs, so this part doesn’t last long,” he said. He was indifferent and empirical.

Dr. Stern was George’s favorite professor in college for no other reason than that Stern hated squirrels. On the first day of class, George walked into the classroom to find Stern looking out the window, and experiencing one of his frequent acid flashbacks. This time, Stern kept his pants on, but he did not acknowledge that a student was in the room. George sauntered up to him to see that Stern was entranced by squirrels on the quad digging up nuts. After a few minutes, Stern noticed George was beside him. Stern lowered his head and muttered, “Fucking squirrels.” Then he turned to George, “They’re always fucking up my roof!” Stern walked back to the podium, poured a cup of herbal tea from a thermos, sat and sipped. He continued to stare out the window pretending to shoot at the rodents playing on the quad. That’s how George got an art history minor with his criminal justice degree.
Like any hunter, George had a deep respect for nature and the animals that inhabit it. But squirrels are a different classification. His hatred for squirrels began with his father, also a hunter. The rodents destroyed the family’s yard, and if there’s one thing a man from our hometown prided himself on, it was a good lawn. George and his dad’s favorite weekend activity was to spend hours on their stomachs, perched on the roof with a BB gun, taking pot shots at squirrels. Initially, they didn’t fire with the force that would kill the animals. “I want the little fuckers to tell their friends not to come in my damn yard,” his dad would say.
But word of mouth is not something to be trusted among squirrels apparently. George and his dad became frustrated, and pumped up the power on their pellet gun. In doing so, they indirectly killed one of the great icons of our town, an albino squirrel. This rare animal had never been seen on their property, but when George saw it gnawing at some of his mom’s flower bulbs, he took careful aim, and fired…right as Pilgrim ran at the white squirrel to chase it away. He took the pellet meant for the albino. That’s how Pilgrim lost his first eye. From that point on, George made it his mission to kill the squirrel that had cost his beloved dog its eye.
However, the actual demise of the albino squirrel is hardly worthy of Melville. A couple days later, George’s dad backed the car out of the garage, and as he clicked the remote to close the garage door, he noticed a pancaked white pelt: The squirrel. His dad, tanned the hide, and tacked it up on a piece of a varnished tree trunk.

The pelt was hung over George’s fireplace. He recounted the vendetta while we sipped a single malt scotch. Paula cleared the table from dinner, a sloppy session of sushi and soy sauce.
“Any word on law school?”
George paused, “I’m supposed to hear tomorrow.”
“What time’s the party tomorrow?” I asked.
“Three. I figured we’d go hunting before then.”
The phone rang. George picked it up quickly. “Hey, bebe.” He looked at Paula and mouthed the word, Janice. Paula smiled and responded by mouthing, Tell her I say, hi. George waved her off, and smacked her on the ass, grinning wildly.
Once the typical palaver between husband and wife was done, he signed off, “See you tomorrow, bebe. Jeff says hi. Yup, love you too babe. Buhbye.” He slugged back the scotch.
I stayed in the mother-in-law house that night. George warned me that others who stayed there said they heard ghosts. I only heard the muffled sounds of Paula and George making love; ghosts of a sort I suppose communing with me in a séance through the ventilation duct. I listened for a while, before turning on ESPN. But sports news did little. So I turned on CNN and my senator was the featured story. The moral indignation helped me sleep on the first night of vacation. And it drowned out the spanking resonating through the vent.
Out of habit, I left my cell phone on. At 2:00, it rang. It was Patty.
“I can’t do it anymore, Jeff. I’m sick of this. Did you see the story on CNN? Did you?”
“Patty-”
“Don’t Patty me. I’m done. I’m divorcing him. They said he fathered her child.”
“That’s speculation. There’s not proof.”
“Well, I want proof.”
“What will that accomplish? Look, this will all -”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m ruining your vacation.”
“No. No. That’s what I’m here for.” I sat up and felt self-conscious for not being clean shaven and business ready. The feature on my senator was being rerun on CNN.
“Well, I’m done with him. The campaign’s over. He won. He’s got six years to rebuild his reputation. I played - do you know the asshole didn’t even take me with the kids - I played the good wife.” Before I could respond, she hung up.
A few minutes later, the senator’s intern called. I let it ring. The other woman left a message.
I panicked for a second, but the week after an election, the senator would be in Tahiti with his kids, and he left instructions that we were not to call unless al-Qaeda struck again within the US. The last thing he said to me before he left was, No CNN, consigliere.

When we got back from hunting George’s sheriff’s department buddies stood underneath a banner that read Happy 3-0! They serenaded him with “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow.” Janice took the two groundhogs we had shot that day, put them in the fridge. Paula had picked her up at the airport that morning while we were shooting two distant cousins of Pauxatauny Phil.
One of the deputies gave George a beer. “You hear about Deifendorf?”
Ben shook his head, tensing, while Paula discreetly passed him an envelope with his LSAT scores. He put it in his hunting vest without opening it.
“Deifendorf, was out last night, and he tazed some poor dumbass at the bar.” The deputies roared at the visual image of some drunk getting a jolt of electricity. “But Deifendorf, it looks like he’s getting fired.”
George opened his beer, “Well, cheers to abuse of power.”
“What do you care?” said another deputy. “You’re going to law school, Poindexter. You’ll get to be a G-man!”
Deifendorf was the break George needed. He’d bounced from department to department in part-time roles. George always proved to be a by-the-book officer, but in college he had been linked to a deal that gave athletes at the University of Wisconsin free shoes at a sporting goods store. It always came up in a job interview, and he had to admit that yes, he accepted free merchandise in violation of NCAA rules. After that, the interview usually ended. Deifendorf would no doubt be suspended, which meant one of the part-timers, like George, would get on fulltime until Deifendorf had his day in front a disciplinary board. And when Deifendorf had been fired, George, as the ranking part-timer, would be the logical choice, regardless of the fact that while a freshman running cross country at UW, he got a free pair of shoes.
Janice came over to where George and I were. She gave me a hug, asked about the end of the campaign and if I liked the mother-in-law house. “I’m sorry you and Paula have to share it. It’s not weird is it?”
“No. Fine. I’m on the couch downstairs. It’s pretty comfortable, really.”
“Any ghosts?” I chuckled.
Janice put her arms around George’s neck, while he chatted with a deputy. She continued talking to me. “I got to be back for a sale tomorrow. Can you believe the bastards wanted to fire me because I wanted be home for my husband’s thirtieth birthday?”
“Fuckers,” Paula said as she laid out the last bags of chips for the shindig. It had been cloudy all day, but it was just now beginning to sprinkle a bit. Janice pulled George towards the house, where they would abscond to the bedroom for fifteen minutes or so.
“Should probably get the grill going,” Paula said, implying that since George was indisposed, I was now the ranking man of the house. Paula took a seat on a lawn chair. Her hair was braided, in pig tails; it was for George. Pilgrim wandered aimlessly, sniffing, until he found Paula, and he laid down at her feet.
“You think he’ll go to law school?” I said while dumping the charcoal into the grill.
“Janice wants him to because she’s seen what you’ve done. But it‘s not a serious, like, gambit, you know. He wants to be a cop.”
I lit the coals. “You think he’ll get the deputy position?”
“Maybe. Probably not. And I think he likes being able to say he didn’t get the job because some so-and-so was the nephew of a councilman.”
“Then when they use a taser at a bar he can say, see I told you they shouldn’t have done that.”
“I overheard Janice,” Paula said. “I’m heading out tonight. After cake. So you‘ll have the house to yourself.” The rain was picking up.
“Is it because of Janice?”
“No. I miss my boyfriend, and he’s not too happy about the time I spend with George. George wasn’t happy I when I told him.”
The rain picked up. There would be no grilling. Paula jogged to the house, Pilgrim following in her footsteps. The deputies grabbed the food and beer on the table, and raced towards the house.

That night, after cake, Paula left, and the rain had stopped. The deputies were comfortably drunk and watching CSI. George was glaring at the ceiling because the patter of little rodent feet sounded above. “Fucking squirrels. Little bastards didn’t wanna get wet so they go in my attic?” He stormed into the basement.
My phone, on silent, began to blink. It was a text message from the senator’s chief of staff: Patty’s off the reservation. She’s going public and writing a book. I need a legal opinion/plan of action by Monday. I massaged my temples and closed my eyes. They opened when I heard the report of a shotgun.
Everyone jumped. George, very drunk, was shooting at the ceiling. He swore profusely and fired until he was out of shells. Janice sitting in a chair in the corner, uncovered her ears. The brief silence ended as the deputies, George, and I laughed hysterically. Janice joined in, gingerly coaxing George to put down the gun, which he did.
Pilgrim had not moved the entire time, but was now up and sniffing for squirrels. None had been hit. My phone blinked again. This time it was the senator. “There hasn’t been a terrorist attack?” I asked. Everyone assured me there had not, otherwise CSI would be preempted by news reports. I let the call go to voicemail.
“I’m going to take Pilgrim outside,” I said. The blind dog understood the word outside. He stood and followed the path to the yard by rote.

RoboCop predicts the future

A lot of people think 1984 is the epitome of big government, tyranny literature. Yet, with all due respect to Eric Blair (Orwell), nothing is more prophetic than RoboCop. I know, if, you've seen the movie, it seems like campy sci-fi. But here we are in 2009. The movie came out in 1987. Watch the movie again. Twenty years later it will scare the hell out of you: corporate contracts for security, health savings plans...the death of humanity for duty. Shit, one of of RoboCop's first readings on his LCD readout says, "command.com" This is '87 folks. About three people knew about .com's and those three people remained virgins until the porn industry realized there was money to be made on the Internet. They even had the Lee Iacoca School featured in the movie - totally beautiful sarcastic irony. There's a game called "Nuke'em" where a family goes to MAD (Mutally Assured Destruction) over Pakistan's threat.

The first time I encountered RoboCop was when I was eleven, and I saw the book on the library's shelf. My parents would not let me see RoboCop. And why the hell should they? They were smart. Nonetheless, I read the book and was awed and scared. The sense of emotionless duty was kind of cool, but bothersome. I didn't see the movie until I was over 17, in accordance with with MPAA ratings guidelines. Actually, I didn't give a shit about the MPAA. The movie just faded into oblivion and became a denigrated shell of itself due to exploitation through sequels and a children's Saturday morning cartoon, which stressed duty, loyalty, and obedience to the state. Now that I've seen this movie a dozen times since I turned seventeen, I can say that Saturday morning cartoon was the biggest slap in the face to the intention of the movie, and would frost Peter Weller's hair more than it already was. Just watch the first ten minutes. The first five minutes are a news show that looks very much like our cable news networks of today: Pretty talking heads, who have no clue what they are saying. Then there's a commercial that has a doctor enticing viewers to come to his heart center where they have the full line of Jarvic hearts. The heart center even accepts health savings plans' financing, which at the heart (no pun intended) of a health savings plan, is that you can make a down payment on a procedure - if you put in enough to the plan over the years. This is what every Republican candidate is proposing by the way as health care relief.

Then you've got the really scary plot point that concerns public safety. OCP, the big industry name in Detroit takes over the police force. Keep in mind, every time a politician says, "We need to privatize X" their advocating exactly what OCP did. That is, a city says, we can't pay for X. A company says, we'll do it, if you pay us a contract that is less than what it will take for the city to actually fix the problem. In Chicago, I'm seeing this with the toll ways. Many cities are handing over control of the toll ways to the highest bidder. However, let's not forget Blackwater. Our army can't carry out its mission to secure Iraq, so we hire private security, whose main mission is securing profits for stock holder, like OCP. As an aside, NPR reported that Blackwater is taking security contracts in New Orleans AND knowing that Iraq will not always be a cash cow, Blackwater is refocusing its business plan to include domestic contracts that include replacing police departments in US cities. Or as they say supplementing.

Now, OCP is your typical big business evil entity. They place Murphy, a top cop, in the highest risk precinct of Detroit. That way, he will get shot and become RoboCop. Such duplicitous actions echo the claims of those who believe Pat Tillman was a political toy. Furthermore, when RoboCop tries to arrest Dick Jones, #2 man at OCP, RoboCop's classified #4 directive does not allow him to do so because OCP won't let their product (RoboCop) turn against them. RoboCop's flaw is that he is the product of two competing execs. No one at OCP really gives a damn about security. The corporate world is built on competition and some perverted conception of Darwin's theory of the strongest surviving. Each exec doesn't care about the safety of the citizenry; they care about securing longtime defense contracts. If I was a halucinagenic conspiracy theorist, I'd even latch onto the fact that the biggest bad guy is the 2nd man, the top VP, in the de facto government (OCP) and his name is "Dick". Ultimately, there is nothing redeeming about the movie. The biggest bottomline assholes get it in the end, but that's kind of like throwing out a guy at the bar and then saying, "Dude, you're just too drunk." Everyone's drunk; he just happened to get caught pissing in the trashcan. The really bad guys get dropped; the bad guys keep running things. Look beyond the bad 80s sci-fi effects; I got to say, if you're freaking out about Blade Runner because of some android twist, watch RoboCop and it'll freak you the fuck out, if for nothing else than watching the cops drive the bad, ancient Ford Taurus model, which just smacks of disrespect. Oh, and as for the title, you got to love the part when Clarence Boddicker comes in to kill Bob Morton (one of the execs concerned about dividend dick size), who is snorting coke off prostitutes, and Boddicker says, "Bitches leave."

I'll leave you with these words from RoboCop that are in every way dripping with irony. He says it to his partner, Louis, who gets shot up, and RoboCop says to her, "They'll fix you. They fix everything."