The Farther We Go The Rounder We Get - Part 4 - August 27, 2008

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"What's going on here?" I half-whispered, throwing my bag on the floor in front of Harris and Bennett.

"Oh, God. I thought you'd been in an accident." Harris tried to kiss me. "We were worried sick about you."

"Proud to have you here." Bennett gave me a hug and shoved the shot glass in my face.

"Why is this place so... segregated."

"Segregated?" As Bennett screamed the rest of the room went deadly silent. "You calling me a racist?"

"You ass..."

"I'm no racist! Take it back!"

"Enough." Harris grabbed Bennett's arm.

"Why are those people blasting Hootie and the Blowfish?" I whispered in Harris's ear.

"They're on Australian time." As Bennett spoke I glanced over his shoulder and saw the rest of room going through the motions of their game in a distracted fashion, half playing and laughing conspicuously, half listening to Bennett and watching us out of the corners of their eyes.

"It's complicated." Harris grabbed his drink and opened the sliding door to the deck. "We should go outside."

Once the door was closed behind us, Harris got straight to the facts. "I invited you guys a few weeks ago, and at that time I thought I had a place with just high school buddies. Turns out one of my friends couldn't get enough bodies so he solicited some from his office. The people in there answered."

"Okay. But there's a weird vibe I'm getting--"

"Hey ladies!" Bennett leaned over the railing as a group of girls passed on the sidewalk below, the shore breeze whipping the wrap skirts around their bikini bottoms in the air. "We're having a party. Want to come up?"

"Dude, those chicks are like, fifteen."

"Bullshit. How do you know that?"

"It's a plumpness thing."

"You mean perkiness."

"No I don't." I meant "plumpness," exactly. A woman can be perky at 17, 35 or 50. "Plump," however, when speaking of asses - that's a different thing. There's a taut, but well-filled quality to a young girl's ass that only seems to be present from tenth grade through their earliest twenties. If you're a student of the ass, you know what I'm talking about, but you'd never be able to explain it. It's like being able to tell the model of a car from its tail lights in the distance. A young girl's ass has a bounce all its own, a ripeness that fades later when it's been hardened with aerobics or flattened by years in a chair. I know that bounce when I see it. All men do. And I knew that Bennett was screaming at jailbait.

"We have really good air conditioning!" He kept at it anyway. "And gin!"

"You want to get us arrested for offering booze to minors?" Harris put his hand over Bennett's mouth. "Remember what I told you about the lady next door?"

"'We have really good air conditioning'? 'Free gin'? Why not offer them candy? Maybe ask them to your see the inside of your van."

"Finish the story, Harris." Bennett ignored me and lit a cigarette.

"Anyway, I had this buddy, Josh, who was supposed to be staying here all the time. He quit his job a few months before and said he was writing screenplays. He was going to stay here all summer, every day."

"Good man."

"Not exactly. Josh didn't write shit. He just got fucked up around the clock, acting like a huge dick all the time. The second weekend we have the place we're just hanging out and then the people in the living room show up. They're a little different than I expected and it's a little awkward, but no huge problem. I figured they needed some time to get their shit unpacked and get settled, so me and another friend, Caleb, head out for the night."

"The turkey sandwich thing is fantastic..." Bennett started giggling. "I love that."

"You want to tell the story?" Harris snapped.

"Sorry. Sorry."

"So Caleb and I wind up spending the night over at The Rockin' Chair. We come back at like two or something and these people are sitting in the house, stone fucking silent. I say 'Hello' and everyone just stares at me, not saying a word, and I'm thinking, 'What happened? This can't be good.' The tall dude in there - the one who looks like Larry Bird - pulls me aside and starts giving me a rash of shit. 'Your friend Josh needs to learn manners.' 'He's a fucking asshole.' Blah, blah, blah...' I finally get sick of it and ask the guy what his problem is.

'My problem? My problem is your friend had a prostitute come to the house while you were out. A prostitute!' I just stood there and listened and acted dumb. What could I say? 'Oh, sorry about Josh... He gets so crazy with those prostitutes... I hope she didn't leave any crabs on the toilet seat this time?'"

"Fuck you."

"I'm serious. I guess while Caleb and I were out Josh got super loaded on this watermelon he'd been soaking in rum and decided to order a hooker from Atlantic City. These people are just hanging out in the living room getting unpacked and a hooker shows up."

"A real, honest prostitute?"

"You ever heard of any fraudulent ones?"

"Go on..."

"She was a pro - straight out of one of the casinos. Huge implants, leather mini-skirt... the whole deal. She even had some bouncer with her for protection, this huge dude who looked like a fat Mike Tyson. They walk into the house in front of everybody and Josh goes in the back room with the chick and fucks her. He's in there with her for like an hour and then she walks out, arranges herself in the bathroom, says goodbye to everyone and leaves."

"Where was the Tyson guy?"

"He sat in the kitchen the whole time, freaking everyone out."

"'That was a pound of fucking turkey...'" Bennett was talking to himself and laughing in the background. "'You owe me a pound of turkey!'"

"Can I tell this story, Bennett?"

"Sorry. I just... Sorry."

"Anyway, these people were seriously angry. I guess somebody's girlfriend left - insisted on getting a hotel room somewhere else for the night. I thought they were going to ask for their rent money back. The Larry Bird guy was seriously shouting at me."

As I stood on the deck listening to the story I observed the crowd inside the house, casually, of course, pretending to laugh or be turning toward the sliding door to light a cigarette away from the breeze. There couldn't have been a worse audience for the scene Harris was describing. I'm not one to pigeonhole a person straight off from appearance. Generally, so far as I've observed, the hippie, goth, metal-head or "Crazy drunk frat boy!" types aren't half as interesting as the guy in the frayed button down and khaki shorts. If you're advertising you're compensating and if you're compensating you're not much fun. That said, in some rare instances a person is so clearly the embodiment of the image he telecasts on the surface that yes, you can judge the book by the cover.

The people in the house were these sorts. They weren't Young Republicans or Jesus fanatics, nothing that extreme. Just a little cleaner than the average shore rental crowd. A bit less libertine and a bit more "certain" about some of life's parameters than a person ought to be in his twenties. And yes, the badges told a lot. The men had more creases than a rack of pants at your local dry-cleaner, everything on them seeming to have come fresh out of the plastic from Macy's, with spotless white sneakers. The women were attractive and exceedingly feminine, but not in a sexual fashion. More in a deferential posture. A few hints of curves here and there, but nothing you'd be pressed to chase. Not bad types, of course. These were good, decent types - a missionary sex crowd all the way. The last people on Earth who belonged in that house.

"Where's this Josh guy?"

"We had to throw him out. He's staying with some other friends over near the bay."

"Your housemates were that mad about the hooker?"

"Actually, that was a minor part of it." Harris walked over to the edge of the deck and looked down, as if he was searching for people below. "Josh got all fucked up the next night and almost put the old lady in the hospital."

"The old lady?"

"This old hag next door who always complains about the noise. She started screaming about the music being too loud. Josh went inside, got the watermelon, went out on the deck and chucked it at her."

"That's three stories down."

"No shit. Thing missed her by a foot. The thing exploded everywhere, covering her in pits and rinds and pulp. She started screaming and freaking out and called the police. The landlord called and said if he saw Josh in the house he'd throw all of us out."

"We can't stay here. You realize that." I peeked through the sliding glass door at the crowd inside. As soon as my eyes fixed on the group, two of the women quickly turned their heads away from us, back to their game.

"You forgot the turkey sandwich!" Bennett slammed his glass down on the wooden railing.

"Right, right. Sorry. The Larry Bird guy was screaming at me and just as I think he's done and I can walk away, he tells me we have to replace his lunch meat."

"What?"

"I had to go out and buy him a pound of turkey at the Wawa."

"Why?"

"I guess when the bouncer showed up he asked them if he could make a sandwich. Nobody said anything so he went into the refrigerator, brought out all the cold cuts and made himself a hoagie."

"A hoagie? Not a sandwich?"

"Maybe it was a 'submarine.'"

"Who keeps hoagie buns in the house?"

"The people in there."

"The whole idea of subs is that people make them for you. You can make your own sandwich, but you can't make your own hoagie."

"That's what I said." Bennett chimed in. "It's creepy."

"All I know is I had to go to the store and wait in line to get that guy a bottle of mustard and a pound of turkey. You ever had to do something like that? It's fucking demeaning."

Not exactly that, but in a general sense, yes. Yes I had and yes it is. We've all been there - standing in a scene that seems so innocuous on the surface, wondering, Do any of these people around me know why I'm here? You look and smell and sound just like everybody else, and technically you are. Except for the back story, that left-handed motive cleaving you from the rest. You start looking around at all the bodies in the lines next to yours, guessing why they're there. What's their back story? Stopping by to pick up some milk and eggs for an early morning breakfast? Gatorade to kill a hangover? Or did a bouncer eat all of their cold cuts too?

No. You're probably not like them, at least at that moment. Their movements are deliberate, considered. They're following plans, with narratives and aims. You? You're just reacting - to hazy idiot decisions and all their fetid fallout... On a jagged, random path that shifts like the bouncing line on a seismograph. Sure, it always comes back to the baseline, but after a while that pin-balling up and down can start to get old. I knew what Harris meant when used the word "demeaning." It's those lucid little moments where you can't help thinking, I need to find a track. Get some different hobbies.

Say what you will about the jorts crowd. They don't suffer much existential angst.

"Let's go then." I opened the sliding door and started for the stairs. "We need to hit The Princeton, now."

"You know, it would be nice if you could close that window!" The minute we started up the sidewalk the old lady from next door stood up from a deck chair and started barking at Harris. "I can hear everything that's going on up there!"

"No you can't."

"Yes I-- I--"

"I don't think so. I think you're just saying that."

"I-- I--"

"Have a nice night."

"Nice move, Harris."

"Not really. I saw someone use that trick at work last week. Screws people up for a second. They don't know what to say."

We were half way up the block when the question finally hit me. "Why didn't you make Josh go buy the turkey?"

"He was passed out, and he'd have refused anyway. There would have been a fight."

"So you had to deal with his mess."

"And that bouncer..." Bennett shook his head.

"What?" Harris pressed.

"He used a whole jar of mustard on one sub?"

To be continued...

Posted by PhilaLawyer at 8:19 AM

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Comments

I'm sure all the comments about how easy it is to identify with your stories are getting old. I'll just leave it at that.

Two things I noticed...

"...the one who looks like Larry Bird - pulls me aside and starts giving me a rash of shit."

"...covering her in pits a rinds and pulp"

I believe you want 'ration' and 'pits and'.

PL: In common discussion, people say "rash of shit." This being a quote from a loose discussion, rash is appropriate. I have never been a fan of applying grammatical rules to dialogue.

On the pits and rinds thing you're right. Thanks for the heads up.

Posted by: estar gwars at August 27, 2008 01:16 PM

I am wondering where Evelyn got the sushi - the tuna, yellowtail, mackerel, shrimp, eel, even bonito, all seem so fresh and there are piles of wasabi and clumps of ginger placed strategically around the Wilton platter - but I also like the idea that I don't know, will never know, will never ask where it came from and that the sushi will sit there in the middle of the glass table from Zona that Evelyn's father bought her like some mysterious apparition from the Orient and as I set the platter down I catch a glimpse of my reflection on the surface of the table. My skin seems darker because of the candlelight and I notice how good the haircut I got at Gio's last Wednesday looks. I make myself another drink. I worry about the sodium level in the soy sauce.

PL: Way back in the day this was applicable. But now, I'd say you have to find some other text to cite. Something a bit more loose, silly even.

And I haven't had that haircut in years...

Posted by: Foot at August 27, 2008 02:44 PM

stop me if you've heard this one...WRITE FASTER!

Love reading your stuff, hate waiting for it.

PL: You're going to get a whole load of shit on a regular basis shortly. I was away on vacation last week.

Posted by: J at August 27, 2008 04:46 PM

Growing up in utah I can tell you the state is brimming with jort wearers.

You are so very apt.

PL: The mystery is why they choose that piece of clothing, among some others, as a badge.

Posted by: not a doktor at August 28, 2008 02:01 AM

We're heading for at least 5 parts? That's your longest one yet, isn't it? Great stuff.

On another editing note, I think the footnote is misplaced.

Are you using footnotes in your book as well?

PL: The footnote is a fuck up. It's being removed.

No, this isn't the longest story yet. There was a six part thing back a year or so ago. This one is different, however, in that I am not playing that simple derivative "arc" anymore. This is kind of like a true serial with subtle but important statements and points rather than a teaser followed with a hook at the end that re-connects to the teaser at the start. And part of the subtle point of it is the length. Aimless and gratuitous in spots by design, the way those times unfolded.

Posted by: Andy at August 28, 2008 08:43 AM

A. You are wrong about the jorts thing -- taste is subjective, and the fact that you think that it isn't just proves that you are Not Middle Class. Rich. Just because you and I are appalled by the jorts, the polyester stretch pants, the short sleeve button down worn with a tie, and the popped collar, does not mean that others can't like them.

You are rich, fucker, deal with it. Oh, sure, you ain't Richie Rich rich, but you, my friend, are rich. Rich rich rich, and no matter how many times you say that Obama's planned tax increases on those who make more than $250,000 a year is a hit on the middle class, it don't make it true.

B. However, you redeem youself by noting the twisted internal dialog that goes along with doing seemingly normal things (like buying a pound of Boar's Head and a squeeze bottle of Goulden's at the Stop and Shop) for bizarro reasons. Granted, I've never had to replace lunch meat eaten by a hooker's bodyguard, but I have had to try to find the right brand of cheap wine, the right model Goodyear tire, and a Hummel figurine. Not at the same time, by the way.

PL: You bastard. You sick bastard. You're going to drive the knife in... just drive it, drive it, drive it in there, right up my aorta.

Jorts are not a class thing. The rich and poor and middle class wear jorts. Jorts are more of an odd taste thing, and if you'd read this without dipping into the flask of Knob Creek in your desk you'd have realized that I did not accuse these jorts wearers of being in any different socioeconomic class than I was or am. I accused them of having a strange flair for "beach denim" indicative of a certain mindset. Jorts are objectively an unattractive fashion faux pas. In Kansas, Arizona, LA, FL and Boston, jorts are not right. Granted, there are some varieties of women's jean skirts that can be called jorts and are okay, but as to men, jorts are objectively unpleasant.

You can't lay the Hummel Figurine thing out there without explaining. If that's going where I think it's going I'm never going to look at a ceramic Jesus the same way again.

On the Obama thing, you're going to get yours. Not here, not now, but just you wait.

By the way, nice to see you've been released. I always thought you'd beat that rap. They were "art photos" all the way and even I figured she was 16. Or do I mean 18?

Posted by: Bob at August 28, 2008 11:08 AM

"'We have really good air conditioning'? 'Free gin'? Why not offer them candy? Maybe ask them to your see the inside of your van."

ask them to your see the inside of your van?

typo? or just a drunk quote

PL: Serial killer/child molester joke.

Posted by: that guy at August 28, 2008 02:15 PM

O I got the joke, the specific part I was talking about was "to your see the inside of your"

to your what? I was referring to that typo, I think there's an extra "your" in there.

PL: I'll send it to my editor. Thanks.

Posted by: that guy at August 28, 2008 02:45 PM

I think that last comment is referring to there being two "your"s in that sentence.

Also, on an unrelated note, several of my friends are currently engaged in a lengthy debate about the best Neil Young album. Care to way in? My vote is for Rust Never Sleeps.

PL: Oh, God. I don't know how to rank Neil by album. He's very uneven. Sometimes you'll get seven or eight decent songs, sometimes five or six pieces of crap mixed up with four bits of absolute brilliance. It's also unfair to judge him by album since many of his are cobbled together from odds and ends he has lying around the studio.

My favorites would be:

Rust Never Sleeps
Zuma
Tonight's the Night
Live Rust
Freedom
After the Gold Rush
Harvest
On the Beach

Years ago, in a state that made the colors and sounds striking in ways I can't explain in prose I saw Neil play what felt like a half hour "Like a Hurricane" while the remnants of a massive storm lashed the outdoor venue with sheets of rain. It was nothing short of life-altering, in a way I'm not sure has been fully explained to me yet. I don't think I'll ever forget watching him crank through that solo. There are few rock stars who have the innate gravitas of Young. He's so concrete in every regard, and at the same time inscrutable, contradictory and flawed. His work is best considered in total - a beautiful, ragged mess. There are many more consistent, many more dependable, but few who can achieve the peaks Neil does when he's clicking. For me, he's as good as Dylan.

Posted by: Andy at August 28, 2008 02:56 PM

I'm troubled that a lot of perfectly good rum was thrown out with the watermelon. Say if it had been finished, then there would be only rind, no pits, etc.

Is you friend so well off he can heave a pint of booze at some public nuisance? What does he do?

PL: This jackass was no friend of mine. Friend of a friend. I think the back story was he inherited a few bucks from a relative - enough to take off a year or two - and wound up becoming a drunk.

Posted by: Ted at August 28, 2008 04:34 PM

I'm not sure I buy the whole "don't read a book by its cover" bit. From the rest of your stuff I've read, you have a keen sense of observing some detail and turning it into some sort of construct. I don't know if that's from years of going over legal briefs (and taking into account every minutiae) or a reflection of your own self awareness (that whole schtick you wrote about in 'Dancing Queen'--akin to the opening scene of "American Psycho").

The ass part really spoke to me, though.

PL: A fair criticism. I do a lot of generalizing quick, but I also try to avoid doing it. But it's there. I sum people up quickly and soak up details for reasons I don't understand. It's maddening, probably why I enjoy drinking. I need that focus blunted, otherwise it's such a pile of disparate signals and constant pestering analyses. I'm not terribly smart, but I'd be happy to be a good bit dumber. The horsepower in my head has never been properly directed.

Must go now. Gin and tonics are calling.

Posted by: notion at August 28, 2008 05:19 PM

How are you dealing with the Amazon reviews? Constantly calling up Donika and asking her to hit you for the last time with the reassurance routine?

PL: As to the first question, with amusement. Of course people are going to be upset by the subject matter. Most people want their personal narratives of how life works reinforced for them. They also want apologies and "emotional porn," to feel validated, be handed a comfortable "hero" telling them their certainties are well founded. I think they got a dose of something they didn't expect.

As to the second, there were a few calls, but mostly Donika and I wondering why Amazon would have sent advanced copies to a pack of soccer moms, a minister in training and several people looking for a rehash of Turow's "One L."

It's all good in the end. Scandal sells.

Posted by: Tree Frog at August 29, 2008 12:18 AM

I'm only half knocking you. I love how you take that construct and turn it into something more meaningful--having it represent an ideology that symbolizes That Guy through an 'us vs. them' paradigm. I'm also guilty of doing it myself more often than not.

Looking forward to seeing how you're going to close this one up.

PL: It turns considerably. This turned into a very stupid evening.

Posted by: notion at August 29, 2008 01:47 AM

Thanks for reminding me that getting life right is about more than a choice between the 3 or 5 series, or between mauve and cream for window coverings. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one thinking this sort of stuff.

Also, the level of description in your writing is getting scary-good. "The missionary sex crowd" slayed me. Perfectly termed.

More please.

PL: What can I say. Jorts say a lot.

By the way, for purposes of clarification, I don't think there's anything wrong with getting a nice car. I like a good ride as much as the next guy. In fact, I have a couple decent ones. Older, used, but nice.

I say if you're going to do it get something original. The 3 Series is so common and such the consummate "I am 26 and making six figures" car. I was in an Audi A3 last week and liked it a lot. Neat little car and it seemed like a lot of fun to drive. Of course, if I could do it, I'd get the A5. The lines on that coupe are beautiful. So smooth and understated.

For your dollar, however, the best thing on the road is a Toyota. They go forever and require almost no maintenance.

Posted by: Matt at August 29, 2008 08:20 AM

"You can't lay the Hummel Figurine thing out there without explaining. If that's going where I think it's going I'm never going to look at a ceramic Jesus the same way again."

I wish that it was that exotic of a story, but it was just the usual high school party gone a bit too wild, resulting in breakage. Think "Risky Business" without the hookers.

Sadly, despite visits to several malls, we were unable to locate an exact replica of the two cherub-faced tykes, and had to resort to superglue. The clever kid who lived at the party house then arranged to knock it off of the end table the following weekend when his father was home and his mother the collector was shopping -- cover story and lighter punishment all in one move. Brilliant.

"By the way, nice to see you've been released. I always thought you'd beat that rap. They were "art photos" all the way and even I figured she was 16. Or do I mean 18?"

As I explained to the police repeatedly, she had ID saying that she was 22.

Oh, and re Mr. Young, I've always been partial to "Comes a Time" and "After the Gold Rush."

My, my; hey, hey.

PL: "Comes a Time"... Now that, that is a deeply overlooked record. Nice pick.

You can't be serious... Her fake ID had a picture of Heidi Montag on it.

My worst unfixable mess was having a huge mirror cube fall down a flight of tile stairs. You'd be amazed how pretty the glass shards looked. And how impossible it was to clean.

Posted by: Bob at August 29, 2008 10:21 AM

I laughed when I saw the amazon reviews. The majority seemed to be bashing the "sex, drugs and rock 'n roll" themes of your book. Is it a bad thing that I enjoy those aspects of your writing the most? Keep it up, Phila.

PL: "Middle minded" sorts... What else can be said?

"You've assaulted my VALUES!"

"No I haven't. You have no values. You have the illusion of them, a narrative of how things work constructed in your head to help you cope with the fear you have no control over your life - that others are doing the driving and you don't even know where the wheel is located."

Just a little dialogue I'd like to use somewhere that seemed to address an issue your comment raised.

Posted by: Biggidy at August 29, 2008 01:30 PM

You make sandwiches with regular bread right? Just think how much better they would be if you used a roll.

PL: You cannot make your own submarine sandwich. It's like cutting your own hair. The sub is all about the special sauce, and each sub shop has its own. I've never met anyone with his own special hoagie seasoning sauce and anyone would is way too interested in making himself subs.

Posted by: Robert at August 31, 2008 01:26 AM

I was somewhat struck that "Everybody Knows This is Nowhere" didn't make your all star NY album list. I really don't think there is a bad track on the album.

Really liked your recommendation on "Mutations" by Beck. Nice change up after only having my hands on "Odelay" and "Guero" and getting to see a rawer side of Mr. Hansen.

I've enjoyed most of your musical suggestions, but one of them I really can't put my finger on is The Clash. You seem to hold them in the same regard as the Stones, Allmans, Dead and Led Zep. I just feel like its loud whining. Care to show me the light?

(P.S. Regarding the Stones: I think people are crazy that think Exile is better than Let It Bleed or Beggars Banquet)

PL: That's a fuck-up. EKTIN should be there, near the top.

"Guero" is not a high point for him and though I like it, "Odelay" has too much going on in it.

The Clash are not in the same class as The Dead or Zeppelin. They couldn't play with Page, Bonham, Garcia or Lesh on their finest days. The Clash are important for having a load of great songs and mixing genres in interesting ways. "London Calling" smashes together so many different types of music and does it all so well. The Clash also had incredible peaks like "White Man in Hammersmith" and "Complete Control" which are truly amazing songs. They weren't consistent, but in the mess of experiments there were gems that were better than a lot of what the Dead and Zeppelin wrote in their later years. I wouldn't say The Clash deserve the title "the only band the matters," but they do deserve to be considered one of the best of the Tier Two bands, just a shade outside the Dead/Zep/Beatles/Stones league.

I should also note that as much as I dig the Clash, their early competitors, The Sex Pistols, still put out the finest pop punk album of all time. "Never Mind the Bollocks" doesn't have a bad track on it. I'll never forget the first time I heard it, and I'm still amazed those people managed to mine such brilliance from a collective IQ of about 300.

I think people consider "Exile" the best Stones record in part because Rolling Stone put it near the top of it's greatest records of all time list a few years back and the notion it was a diamond-in-the-rough classic for the ages stuck. Prior to that I'm willing to bet a lot more people thought "Beggars" and "Let it Bleed" were the band's peaks. Also remember "Exile" was a double record. People remember there were twice as many great songs as any other disc, but they seem to forget the record had a lot more mistakes and filler in it than "Bleed" or "Sticky Fingers." If you split "Exile" into two records neither would be as impressive as their other "Big Four" records.

Posted by: Steve at August 31, 2008 10:37 AM

I've read your stories. I've checked out the T/RMMB, but there was something about THIS response that struck a chord with me. Wow. Just fucking wow. I meet far too few people like you in my life.

PL: Or too many. I'm arrogant enough to be thrilled my head works as it does on one level. I'll probably get some future running my mouth off out of this gig, I figure... But I'm hardly deluded enough to think I wouldn't be a lot happier with a lunchbox and the knowing grin of one who never even considering the looking glass, or which side we're on...

Since I was a kid I've just looked at what's around and said "Why?" a lot. If you've considered the political conventions of the past month, you've experienced a form of it. I understand on the surface why the parties can never really work for us, how they've been manipulated and do little more than manipulate. But I can't help wondering, "We all want a fiscally conservative, socially liberal President, right? So why in recent history has that never been an option? Why hasn't some party or candidate risen up to satisfy the vast majority of the country that is fiscally sensible and socially tolerant?" Seems a failure of market theory.

Maybe it's true - you can't always get what you want. Maybe if we got a candidate like that it would lead to a tyranny of relativism that would shatter our nation's backbone. Maybe we need believers in the irrational Gods of The State or Religious Zealotry keeping the "smart" of us from driving the whole thing into the ground. I sometimes worry that perhaps I've been advocating too much rational thought. If we tell everyone "All you have is time, do what like to make the most of it," we run into myriad social difficulties. Certain people have to be cowed into doing certain things to keep the lights on. And really, is that such a bad state? Comfort's not a bad goal. Keeps your blood pressure nice and low.

It's also possible I'm just thinking too much...

Posted by: Your boy at September 10, 2008 01:59 AM

ive been seeing nothing but jorts-hating here so i figure it's time for a defender to step up and proclaim the love.

theyre tough and durable. they dont stain so i can wear em for months without bothering to wash them and i can always wipe my hands on them. they dont rip when i jump chainlink fences and they have strong pockets. theyre like jeans PLUS you get a whole lot of extra airflow. it's the best of both worlds. ive been wearing the same walmart pair for almost eight years now.

in fairness i have to admit that both my sisters and many of my female friends have told me ill never get any love from the ladies in them. this is a statement i have not yet tried to disprove and whose validity i readily accept

anyway i felt like i had to rep the flag here

PL: A fair rebuttal, but you kind of shot yourself in the foot with that second to last paragraph...

Posted by: t at October 9, 2008 03:07 PM