SHORT TAKES & SUCH: Anti-Obammunist Tea-Bagging Patriots, Queen City Man Molesters, Rambling Attempts at Activism, & The Whammo Kid Strikes...

DAYTON, Ohio (ZP) -- Unashamed and unrepentant, the balding middle-aged gentleman announced that he was proud of his role in promoting tea-bagging as a form of protest against what he called "Obammunism."

Ya know, for some reason, when a strange old fucker tells me how much he likes tea-bagging, it always reminds me of similar conversations in The Castro...

I'd made the mistake of opening my mouth in an airport bar. I am, at times, a dumbass.

But, well, in all fairness, it's not often a "freedom-loving American businessman" gets a chance to discuss politics with a younger dude who thinks massive public debt designed to help select elite maintain a chokehold on a monstrously large government is a bad idea.

It was the piece I was reading at the time at the airport bar, a selection from Samuel (Dolgoff) Weiner's Ethics and American Unionism, that started it. Apparently lonely and looking for conversation, the guy'd asked me what I was reading. As soon as I said "...well, it's this essay written by this libertarian housepainter from New York...," the guy slithered up beside me, slurred a drink order to the server, a round on him.

For the record, there's no such thing as a free drink in this world...

He'd been at the so-called Tea Party protests in Chicago earlier in the year, a protest of what many on the Economic Far-Right associate with something akin to Socialism and financial nationalization...

... And yes, he even defined, for a young fella like myself, what he meant when he said libertarian: a libertarian, in this Age of Regression, refers to a fundamentalist born-again Christian, gay-hating, anti-reproductive-rights, flag-waving Patriot, the owner of a four-bedroom, three-bath home in the Columbus suburbs, owner of a chain of stores that sold Chinese-manufactured goods and provided minimal employee benefits, a downsizer of the Masses who was proud - PROUD - of the fact that he'd saved the economy (i.e. his own ass) by laying off about a dozen people...

Oh sure, buddy. And when the economy was lining your capitalist pockets, you jerked off to Reaganomics and Ayn Rand novels...

And, lord, the guy just wouldn't shut up about how much he loved tea-bagging, being a tea-bagger.

I didn't have the heart to explain that Samuel Dolgoff was actually a proud member of the Industrial Workers of the World, the man who coined one of my favorite phrases to describe the Bush/Obama bailouts (i.e. "State Corporate Welfarism"), a bona fide Wobbly revolutionary who loved freedom and his fellow workingman, an anarcho-syndicalist Jew from the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

And that guy, trust me, wouldn't have taken a free drink from a such a libertarian without an argument about how how Rush Limbaugh is supposedly right.

Motherfucker, please.

- MORE -

CINCINNATI (ZP) -- It was a clear case of mistaken identity. The woman thought I was someone else.

But, well, it's not often a middle-aged woman walks up behind me just outside of Paul Brown Stadium, grabs my ass, and bites my neck.

Well, not while sober, with nary a bar in sight, in the middle of a beautiful sunny day. I couldn't smell any booze on her breath but, well, hot chick in a low-cut blouse and whole lack-of-a-bra/ tid bit nipply there thing was sorta interfering with my perception.

"Oh, you're not Tommy's son, are you?"

"Um... no."

"You're sure? You're not _______?"

"No ma'am."

"Do you play football at [a smaller Ohio university]? I'll bet you play football...?"

I guess the question-and-answer session was her way of coping with embarrassment. Went on for about five minutes before I rather awkwardly excused myself from the discussion.

Okay, so maybe the woman was on something other than booze. But, well, from the looks of her, and given her rather obvious fondness for small college football players, well...

Whoever Tommy's son is, he's one lucky bastard if that Desperate Housewife has her way.

- MORE -

RANDOM COLLEGE TOWN, Ind. (ZP) -- I'm a lousy educator. I'm usually the first to admit it.

But I guess I'm fairly decent at bluffing my way through situations where a real presenter or lecturer would feel more at ease.

It's a gift. Or a curse. Not sure which.

The free wine and pizza helped.

The gathering's hostwwwess stood up in front of her coffee table, tapped her glass, and introduced me as "one of Ohio's most controversial bloggers, a librarian and cultural critic..."

Jesus, everybody hates a critic, I thought, trying not to smirk.

I was invited, this time, not to talk about librarianship, or blogging, or, well, being critical.

Nope, I was here to talk about life, about social networking and privacy, about how nobody, in the 21st Century, really buys that ...And the Meek shall inherit the Earth shit of sermons and puritanical patriotism.

But yep, sometimes that all overlaps with the information sciences, blogging, and critical examination of the world's systems of power.

C'est la motherfucking vie.

"Well, thanks...um...that was a wonderful introduction. Let me start by thanking _____ for hosting this great party...

"...And I'll try not to bore you with, heh, batshit and rambling stories...

"...And who owns the content of our World Wide Web? This fucking company owns that site, owns that server... but who owns the Internet? The answer is simple - humanity... The Web is bigger than any company, andy government, any one group..."

I tried my damnedest not to ramble. Honest-to-God. But, well, wine... room full of college kids...

And yes, for some reason, there's a bunch of undergrads (mostly female) in the U.S. and Canada who think I'm some younger version of Noam Chomsky because of my political rantings as of late...

Though having the chance to say I'd rather not be compared to anybody but myself, in person during casual conversation over glasses of box wine, does wonders for the ol' ego...

The Literate, the Life Scholar, and the Free of Thought have no patience for inheritance, a relic of an increasingly transparent capitalistic world filled with product-driven media, church dogma, greed, systems of oppression and coercion, and political partisanship...

That was, well, the point I hope I conveyed in what ended up being a somewhat batshit, rambling discussion, full of questions and comments, head nods and darting eyes.

Lecturing's a lot tougher than blogging.

Especially when there's box wine involved.

- MORE -

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- The Whammo Kid had me backed into a corner, two six-shooters aimed squarely at my chest.

I was a goner. I didn't even know my offense or crime. He made no demands whatsoever. His guns glistened in the sunlight.

And no one in Martin Luther King, Jr., Park offered any help. Nobody even gave my assault a second glance, in fact.

What a way to go...

The Kid's cowboy hat sat cocked to one side, his jeans dirty and shirt stained. A wicked grin cut a tight-lipped canyon in his otherwise smooth face.

"Gimme your money!" The Whammo Kid finally demanded.

"But... Kid... I don't have any money...that's why I'm going to the bank..."

Sweat was beginning to fill my own Stetson, the moisture soaking down into the brim beneath the summer sun.

"Why?" The gunslinger asked. "Gimme FIVE DOLLARS FOR ICE CREAM!"

I felt my assailant's eyes cutting through me like a thousand daggers.

"Kid, I don't have any," I said. "Is...is...eh...your mom or dad... somewhere?"

"NO! I AM A ROBBER!"

I was ready for the end. Having no money to give my preteen thief, nothing of value, I watched in horror as The Kid aimed his plastic water pistols, fired.

Squirt. Squirt Squirt.

Squirtsquirtsquirt.

It was all over in less than a second. Being nowhere near tall enough to get off a body shot, his two-foot frame had to settle for a crotch shot.

My pants were soaked.

And with his first victim a mere notch on his summertime belt, the Whammo Kid took off running, ran all the way to a blanket in the park. A young woman looked up from her book as the kid pointed my way, blushed, and mouthed a silent apology.

I laughed, waved as if it didn't matter, and kept walking towards the ATM.

Kid, be glad I don't have a Supersoaker handy.

Where I come from, we don't bushwhack another cowboy in front of the bank...

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PRAYING FOR IGNORANCE NEVER SAVED A DAMNED SOUL: Of Quantum Mechanic Dreams & The Nightmares of Blind Faith-Based Education

If we had a reliable way to label our toys good and bad, it would be easy to regulate technology wisely. But we can rarely see far enough ahead to know which road leads to damnation.

- Freeman John Dyson,
Physicist and Mathematician,
from Disturbing the Universe, 1979

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- I began my own college career back in the Fall of 1996 - not as an aspiring journalist, not as a future writer or librarian, but as a hopeful young physicist.

Yes, I wanted to be a formula jockey, a Quantum Mechanics grease-monkey, a Man of Science.

Okay... better explain this a bit...

... I guess I was what educators call a gifted, advanced student - basically, a polite way of saying that you're intellectually retarded, but in a good way.

So gifted and advanced, in fact, that I never had a "Freshman year" in college - I completed 30 credit-hours, a whole academic year's worth of classes, while still in high school. And despite all of my drug abuse and violent tendencies back then, I even managed to rack up enough credits in integral and differential calculus to officially earn my nerd stripes.

Hell, I figured, aspiring physicists need calculus at an early age. And how I loved physics! How I dreamt whilst drinking MD 20/20 in high school of toying with the EPR paradox for a living!

My senior year in high school, I'm not ashamed to admit, I spent quite a few Sunday afternoons on the porch of a sorta famous, Soviet defector physicist, picking his brain, drinking vodka and eating pelmeni whilst being lectured on both my brutish immaturities and Bell's theorem...

But I digress.

To this day, well, even long after my dreams of being one of those hardened, wild-haired theorists were squashed by my inability to pass those annoying chemistry courses, I'm still fascinated by the fact that everything on this planet falls with a gravitational acceleration of somewhere between 9.78 and 9.82 meters per second, squared.

I just wasn't cut out to be a physicist. However, I did find a calling as an information scientist...

Sorta.

* * * *

Thankfully, the world is run by better men and women than myself - real scientists and mathematicians who could get past those courses, who went on to run our world's research labs, to design and formulate and project the trajectories of our Mars landings and Deep Space probes, who figure out new ways to calculate our distances from and sizes of the smallest atoms and the largest suns.

Yes, Men and Women of Science created our modern world. Those men and women solve the layman's unsolvable, dedicate their lives to studying what many of us simply don't have the fortitude to comprehend. The politicos and armchair quarterback and celebrities be damned!

The laptop upon which I'm typing was made possible by the tireless efforts of mathematicians and scientists, by complex mechanics and programming and circuitry engineering that boggles the mind. The wireless Internet connection I'm using right now, the Internet itself, is the creation of our planet's collective genius.

There isn't too damned much in our technological world, in fact, that wasn't made possible by someone's research, wasn't first an idea first published in someone's dissertation or thesis, wasn't cooked up in some cold lab or drafty classroom.

Men like Freeman Dyson, yes, choose to build for us worlds of knowledge where faith is meaningless without critique and calculation, where even the best theory relies on some unseeable, intrinsic faith as it approaches the point at which it is to be tested.

Our Albert Einsteins and Isaac Newtons and Richard Feynmens and Copernicuses, our Stephen Hawkings and our Igor Tamms... their works represent Man's desire to come as close to whatever that mystery is that some call God as man can get without being driven insane.

Blessed be the thinkers, for they are the ones chosen by whatever powers that control this existence to be both condemned and praised for daring to imagine the unknown.

* * * *

As I listened to this group of college students huddled together, I recalled, for some reason, that passion I once had for physics, that sacred brushing of the face of God found in integers and variables and, yes, even the potential to discover the mechanics behind The Universe's meaning.

The undergrad prayer group (or some such thing) was debating amongst themselves, asking each other questions about why more people don't simply turn to prayer whenever the world gets under their skin, why people dare to argue that the supposedly infallible words of God were never meant to be taken literal, why kids in their science labs roll eyes whilst they argue that their Sunday School teacher told them that evolutionary theory is a conspiracy theory against Christ and the Southern Baptist Convention...

One woman, I overheard, was going to call her youth pastor for a letter, a letter to get her out of certain readings in a general education class. God created the world, so the legend goes, in six days - He took Sundays off to watch football. How dare she be forced to read heresy at - GASP! - a university!

It was to be her mission to end such things, to exempt the Flock from the wolves in the pastures of intellectual pursuit. The other group members nodded their heads in agreement, suggested things like a prayer for guidance and strength and for the faculty to all embrace that Jewish carpenter of lore...

* * * *

I'd write more about their alms and concerns and strange conversation, but, well, I'm afraid that the teenage aspiring physicist still buried inside me would puke up a rather tasty blueberry muffin the adult me really enjoyed.

Let's just say that some conversations, for one who believes that Faith, Reason, and Knowledge are the three-legged foundation upon which our great future is built, are simply hard to stomach repeating in the 21st Century, even for me.

And let's just say, too, that the next evolutionary biologist, genetic researcher, or geographer I meet will get a hearty thank you for dedicating themselves to shedding some light on our species' origin, on the history of our world, on how our own bodies work and change over time.

* * * *

What a waste of life, to debate such things with a groupthink faith devoid of reason! To waste the kinetic gift of spiritual faith, to waste a belief in a beautiful, loving god by plotting to stop Man's quest for knowledge over something as silly as a personal offense.

Constant agreement to maintain our sense of control in life's grand experiment, with prayers to eliminate the disconcerting variables that fly in the face of our beliefs, yes! That's the solution to the world's tangible problems, to understanding things like our DNA's mysteries and the existence of space-time!

Pray for it to all go away! Ask the youth pastor for a protest letter in support of some horseshit called Creation Science!

Organized religion really may be on its way back to its primordial roots of cruel buffoonery and superstitious stupidity, if this is all that is left of the Spirit.

Hopefully not, but, well, if I were one day forced to choose between faithless Science and thoughtless Religion, my take has always been to use the Bible for kindling if it gets in the way of curing cancer.

That sucking sound you hear? Normal around these parts, actually.

* * * *

I will never understand how anyone could attend college with an expectation that their belief in an Earth that revolves around a prayer group or a church doctrine will be simply validated as common knowledge, that the exploration of the mysteries behind our world and existence, our glorious Sun and heavenly galaxy's workings, shouldn't be taught because some people find such things Satanic.

To think, and to be challenged to think, is in the minds of some folks a damnable offense. And that's tragic. How little we've really learned from our great thinkers, artists, and, especially our scientists over the whole of the Human Existence.

At the root of the great tragedies of this world, from the purges of Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union to the horrible events of September 11th and the various genocidal insanities of our modern life, one always finds some similar need to protect Man from our ideas, from our science and logic and reason, art and literature and other beautiful things.

The greatest damnation, of our gods and of ourselves, comes from our own quixotic quest to keep our world blissfully ignorant. Ignorance is not bliss.

Instead, it is merely the Mephistopheles of our fears, of our desire to stay stagnant, creating worlds more hollow and meaningless than any illusion Doctor Faustus could ever invent.

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