I’m back <== painful pun

It’s been a little while. A big little while. I’ve learned something over the last few months, namely that while I am capable of doing many things at once I’m not so good at doing many things at once while I’m in horrible pain.

Horrible, horrible pain.

What happened? I herniated a disc in my lower back, and it has been by far the least pleasant experience of my life. If you haven’t experienced it yourself, I can best describe the sensation as comparable to being stabbed with a bolt of lightning, except the stabbing goes on and on and on. The human body is an amazing thing, and it is amazing how something as simple as picking up a bottle of shampoo can make you lie on the floor of your bathroom sobbing for half an hour. Seriously.

I like to think of myself as a pretty stoic guy when it comes to physical discomfort. I haven’t taken a sick day in the last four years, even when I had an Exorcist-style stomach flu (my co-workers were impressed by my dedication, even as they stood at a safe distance and yelled at me to go home). I have been struck by a falling log full of nails (true story). I have had a bottle broken over my head, I have been kicked in sensitive regions, I have accidentally stapled my own hand to a stack of papers – never, not once, have I accepted so much as a Tylenol to ease my suffering. I can take it. Then this happened:

That bump is my nucleus pulposus, popping its little head out through a tear in my annulus fibrosus to say ‘Hello! I’m crushing your sciatic nerve!’. My body’s immediate reaction was to tie my lower back into a solid steel knot, which my pain receptors then used as a stage for a week-long performance of ‘Screaming Anguish: The Musical’. During this time I discovered that the best way of getting around my apartment was crawling. Backwards. I ate an entire raisin challah and washed it down with a pint of pineapple juice because that’s what was on the bottom shelf of my refrigerator.

The weeks that followed are a blur. That’ll happen when your diet consists entirely of breakfast cereal and oxycontin. Fortunately I had more than a month’s worth of days off saved up at work; unfortunately, there was so much urgent work to do that I didn’t take any of them. You know you’re living the dream when you’re lying in bed, talking to a client on your cell phone, and pressing ‘mute’ every three minutes to scream obscenities at the ceiling.

The good news? I’m feeling better now. Not all-the-way-better – not, for example, so much better that I’m not still munching Schedule IA narcotics several times a day. But a rigorous regimen of having steroids injected directly into my spine with what I’m pretty sure is a bayonet has gotten me back on my feet, and with some luck I may avoid needing surgery (or a spinal cord stimulator, the idea of which gives me nightmares). Work has eased up a bit, too. So … here I am. Back again.

Hi!

In Praise of Responsible Motherhood

As I type, the US Senate is engaged in debate about the coverage or lack thereof that will be provided for abortion services under proposed health care reform legislation. As I listen to Orrin Hatch and his colleagues wring their hands over the prospect of American tax dollars being used in a way that some American citizens may find morally offensive, I am struck by two things:

1) What an incredibly, laughably weak argument this is.

2) They’re going to get away with making it, because the weakness of the defense of abortion rights is even more striking.

The reason for this is simple: there is no voice out there defending abortions. Not one. There are many pro-choice groups, but nowhere will you hear or read a defense of abortion itself.

Well, not quite nowhere. Read on.

Abortion is a wonderful thing. There are few things a person can do that can so change the trajectory of a person’s life for the better than, under the right circumstances, having an abortion. If women are allowed to choose – in cunning imitation of rational, independent human beings – whether or not to bear children, they have the power to control the circumstances under which the next generation of Americans comes into the world.

Do we approve of homeowners who decide to buy a house that they can’t afford? Do we approve of incompetent professionals who try to perform jobs they don’t know how to do? Then why on earth would we approve of (forget about insisting upon) a woman bearing a child without the means, competence, or desire to take care of it? There will always be lousy parents – must we put ourselves to the trouble of making more?

On the other hand, is it possible to speak too highly of the good mothers of this world? Does anybody do more to help a child grow up healthy, happy, economically productive and socially functional than a caring, competent mother? Three cheers, then, for every tool that we as a society can put at her disposal to make her job easier. In life, as in comedy, timing is important. Abortion gives American women the ability to make the most important decisions they make exactly that: decisions.

Finally – and let us say this loud and proud, and all the more so because it is demonstrably true by any reasonable standard:

An abortion is only a big deal if you need one and can’t get it.

It’s between a woman and her doctor for the same reason a prostate exam is between a man and his doctor: it’s uncomfortable, potentially embarrassing, and nobody else’s business. Sure, some people have decided to object to it on moral grounds; in this respect, abortion can get on the bus with meat-eating and hip-hop. You’re entitled to your moral objections. Just don’t expect us to pay much attention to you. Because if we’re smart, we won’t.

An open letter to the Trench Potatoes

Every American schoolkid has been compelled at one time or another to write a letter to Congress. Then, it was for our benefit; now, I think it might be good for them. I address this to those legislators who, waist-deep in Capitol Hill mire, may need a little bucking up. A little inspiration. A little perspective. A boot in the rear. Here’s the text that – amended to include a few specifics – I’ll be tossing into a few Congressional mailboxes.

Dear Representatives of the American People,

Perhaps our most tragicomic instinct as human beings is to seize control over little things when all other control is lost. Survivors who escaped the towers on 9/11 have described hovering near their desks as fire alarms blared, calmly and intensely deliberating and then, finally, picking up a book to carry with them down the emergency-lit stairwell. They didn’t need the book, or want it – they just needed to make a decision for themselves, at a time when all decisions were being taken away from thousands of their fellows.

When nothing can be done, we feel the need to do something. But when something must be done, and we have the power to do it, all too often we stand by and let the moment pass.

In the towers, people who never asked to face danger made choices that saved or ended their lives. These are the same kind of choices that a soldier in a trench might have to make – simple choices with profound consequences. To stand up and shoot, or to duck and cover? Neither option guarantees safety, and when you’re sitting in the mud with bullets singing overhead even the act of lighting a cigarette is neither easy nor without significance. Once you’re in the trench, the decision to “go over the top” – to force your nerveless body up and into no-man’s land – is one that humans are not designed to make.

That’s why you make that decision before you set foot in the trench.

Hard decisions are one thing, decisions under hard circumstances quite another. C.S. Lewis describes ‘courage’ as not itself being a virtue, but rather the form of every virtue at the testing point. Courage of conviction can be as simple as pure, bloody-minded obstinacy, a determination to do what you came to do no matter how different things look when you arrive. That’s not an easy quality to develop, especially once you come under fire. However:

THIS IS A TRENCH YOU CHOSE.

You chose to fight. You fought to fight. Every one of you sits where you sit now because you campaigned, you struggled, you battled, and you were victorious. The trench is your prize. You could be making more money, working shorter hours, and taking less abuse if you went back to your legal practice or took a corporate job. But you are where you are because you chose it, and you chose it for a reason: you, along with a scant handful of your fellow citizens, are in a position to fight for the future of your nation. Your constituents picked up the one rifle they had and handed it to you.

That doesn’t make the decision to fire any easier; therefore, remember that it’s a decision you’ve already made. I won’t argue that fortune favors the bold, or that the warriors who stand up in the face of controversy tend to outlast those who seek safety. I don’t have to: it’s self-evident, and it’s not the point. The point is not the medals you may earn or the speeches you may make, though both will be brighter for being harder-won. The point is that we, the people, didn’t accept your application for a spot in the trench so that you could sit in it. We want you to fight.

So, fight.

My Testimony to the City Council

Yesterday I gave testimony before the DC City Council regarding Bill 18-482, the Religious Freedom and Civil Marriage Equality Amendment Act of 2009, authored by At-Large Councilmember David Catania and supported by the good Phil Mendelson. It was a great experience, although the public witness immediately preceding me took the opportunity to propose to his boyfriend. Congratulations to both of them, but still … that’s a tough act to follow.

My testimony (link to video will follow when available):

I’d like to thank the Council for this opportunity to speak. My name is (x). I’m a longtime resident of the District of Columbia, an American citizen, a taxpayer and a voter. I am a patriot; I believe in principled government, in law and civil order, in strong families and the values that help them prosper. I am a heterosexual. I am also a son and a grandson and a brother.

I have a duty to my country, my community, and my family, to support them and protect them and stand up for them. That’s why I’m here today. To speak on behalf of my family, and all families.

I said that I’m a brother. I’m actually a big brother, and that’s has responsibilities of its own. With regard to my little sister Charlotte, I have always had two jobs: to give her a hard time, and to stand up for her against anybody else who might try to do likewise. Since I was four years old I have had a very specific expression ready for any boy who might think about breaking my baby sister’s heart. If you have little siblings, I think you know what I mean: an expression that says “nobody messes with my loved ones except me.”

I’ve never gotten to use that expression.

My sister and I fought, squabbled, and grew up. We both had crushes and heartbreaks, and she was always there for me during my bad times and after my bad decisions. But I never got to use my warning death-glare, and I never will, because I don’t have it in me to intimidate a pretty, intelligent girl who loves my sister with all her heart.

I got this in the mail last week [hold up wedding announcement]. “The honor of your presence is requested at the wedding of…” I never understood these things. They seem like an expensive way to tell me something I already knew. My sis is getting her master’s degree, and her fiancée is doing Teach for America; I don’t know how they can afford the pretty stationery. I guess it’s romantic to want to make something beautiful to announce something beautiful. And I guess it’s cheaper to have the printers call a wedding a wedding, rather than a ‘commitment ceremony’ that, if hardship strikes, could be worth less than the pretty pink paper this is printed on.

I’m addressing the Council today for two reasons. First, because I’m going to have to give a wedding toast pretty soon, and I need practice. Second, because it’s my job as a big brother to stand up for my sister, to make sure she gets treated fairly by everyone except me. My sister is smart, funny, deeply obnoxious, incredibly loving, and her relationship with her partner is … pretty ordinary. They argue, they fight, they like Japanese art, and they want to visit all fifty states. I love them, but they’re already a boring old married couple. I’m jealous. They – and everybody like them, everybody who’s found time in their lives to meet someone who makes the world a simpler and happier place – deserve nothing more than to be allowed to make the best of it. The legal right to marry won’t give my baby sister, or those like her, the happily-ever-after they’ve always wanted and always deserved. But it’s a wonderful thing, and it’s the least we can do.

I thank the Council for its time.

Fahrenheit 3:16 – Read A Book You’d Rather Burn

Everybody celebrates holidays in their own way – Chinese food for New Year’s, green Guinness for St. Paddy’s, crushing bitterness for Valentine’s day – but let’s face it: some holidays demand fire. From Fourth of July fireworks to Hanukkah candles, you’re not really partying unless flames are involved. In this festive spirit, the good folks of Amazing Grace Baptist Church in Canton, North Carolina are going to be celebrating Halloween this year with a get-together that combines the great tradition of fire-for-fun with another time-honored practice: burning books.

Fire is a versatile thing. It’s not just pretty, it’s eloquent: nothing says “you had probably better listen to me” like a little combustion. Pretty much anything – a flag, a cross, a witch, a Reichstag – carries more political significance when it’s burning. That’s why Pastor Marc Grizzard and members of his church will be burning some heretical tomes to celebrate All Hallows Eve. And these won’t be satanic or pornographic books, not evolutionary texts, not even Harry Potter (getting a burn permit for all seven volumes is nearly impossible). Nope. They’re gonna burn Bibles, as well as books by such notable blasphemers as Billy Graham, Rick Warren, and Mother Teresa. Also, “music of every genre” – hopefully on vinyl, since everybody knows that analog has a warmer sound.

Personally, I’m skeptical of the efficacy of bonfires as a means of suppressing Kenny G (though God knows it’s worth a shot). Besides, ideas always seem to pull an Obi-Wan Kenobi – if you try to strike them down they only become more powerful. So I’d like to put aside the specifics of Pastor Grizzard’s little Savonarola impression and make a suggestion:

READ A BOOK YOU’D RATHER BURN

There are a lot of bad books out there, but I’m not talking about that paperback thriller you bought off a rack at the airport. I’m talking about Bad, capital-B-Bad books. Evil on paper. Try to find a real-life equivalent of the Necronomicon from the Evil Dead movies, curl up with a cup of tea, and start at page one. I did. I read ‘The Turner Diaries’.

This novel, written in 1978 by William Pierce, was a favorite of Timothy McVeigh prior to the OKC bombing. It follows the heroic exploits of Earl Turner, a white man who makes a valiant stand against the wicked Jews and brutish Negroes who have seized control of the US government. After waging a protracted campaign to protect the Aryan race by executing ‘race traitors’ and pawns of the Zionist-controlled government, Turner cements his status as saint and martyr by strapping an atomic bomb to an airplane and crashing it into the Pentagon. Thus, the stage is set for his white brethren to sweep across the globe and finally eradicate the mud races from the earth.

Trust me, I have not even come close to doing this book justice. Only a literary talent like Mr. Pierce could have described in such loving detail the placards tied around the necks of a young interracial couple prior to their lynching. If you haven’t read it, you can’t imagine the cathartic ecstasy of a man on a mission who has climbed into an airplane on a God-given suicide mission to destroy the Pentagon.

So, you should read it.

Seriously.

Especially if you really, really, really don’t want to.

There are some ideas we don’t want to have inside our heads. There are some perspectives so horrifying that to step into the shoes of their authors is to feel a sense of defilement, a need to take a shower with a cheese grater just to get the filth off. And I highly recommend it – because afterwards, you’ll understand a very real view of the world that you’d never otherwise have been able to believe existed. You’ll be wiser for it. And you’ll have demonstrated the difference between yourself and the coward whose first instinct is to reach for a torch.

P.S. – Got a suggestion for a good ‘Bad’ book? Please comment, I’d like to put together a list! But please stick to the spirit of the thing; not everybody likes ‘Atlas Shrugged’ or ‘Das Kapital’, but I’d like to avoid too many flames. Ironic as that is.

A Blog is Born

A blog of a billion bytes begins with a single post.

Over the next few days I’ll be adding content and commentary, all while putting up background info on the principles of Democratic Limitarianism and fluffing the pillows in the coffin that mainstream partisanship can go ahead and lie down in already.

-A