This Actually Happened

I came home from work on Tuesday and did my usual.  Turned on the TV, checked my e-mail and then chekced facebook.  I had a message in my facebook inbox that was, without a doubt, the strangest question I have ever received.  At first, I dismissed it as a joke or a hacked account.  I immediatelly called Leah to get her opinion.  We both agreed it was legitimate  Here's the question, copied from facebook (I've changed names to protect the people asking the absurd question):

I waited a few days to respond.  Here it is:

I don't know how, but stuff like this happens to me on an almost weekly basis.  I hope you enjoyed it.

Sunday Morning With A Dollar Sign

The bed shakes.  My eyes snap open.  I don't move my head.  Instead, I stare deeply at my alarm clock.  It's 6 hours and 12 minutes slow.  I close my eyes again and drift back to sleep.  I wake up in what seems like seconds to the sound of something being dragged across my floor, zipped up, and lifted.  I peel open my eyes and try to see what it is.  It's my friend, Leah.  She's getting her things and rolling her bag out of my loft.  The bed shakes again, more violently this time.  My eyes open once more.  I watch a red head uncover, rub her eyes and walk out of my room.  I sit up, confused.  I could only see her from behind, but I have no idea who that was.  At that moment, the headache sinks in.  It feels like some one is trying to flush my brain down my spinal cord.  When I try to swallow, my throat feels like I had been drinking sand for several hours.  I reach for a cup on my nightstand and put it to my lips to hydrate.  Empty.  Damn.  I can smell the whiskey on my breath as it circulates in the cup.  Slowly, I sit up.  I pivot on the mattress and place my feet on the cold cement floor.  I grab the cup and walk out of my room to the main room in my loft.

I examine the scene.  Bottles of all types are every where.  Wine bottles, beer bottles and liquor bottles, not to mention the dozens of glasses laying on window sills, the kitchen table, end tables and the coffee table.  The stench of stale beer fills the entire room, it creeps into every corner and settles inside every cupboard.  I inadvertantly breathe it in, it reminds me of the night before.  What I can remember anyway.  I head to the sink, turn on the water and fill up my cup.  While I ravenously pour the water down my throat, I examine my place a little closer.  There's a pair of boxers near my television, playing cards on the kitchen table and a pair of boxer briefs close to my mini fridge (the beer fridge).  Yes, the mini fridge is in addition to the standard fridge.  I stop drinking so I can take a breath.  The sand washes away from my throat.  I fill the cup again.

I stumble to my couch.  There, I find the red head.  My friend, Molly.  She looks just as hungover as I am.  I throw myself on the chase half of my sectional, turn on the TV and hope it's on a channel with something interesting showing.  There will be no channel surfing with this hangover.  Before I can determine what's on, I already start drifting back to sleep.  My eye lids get heavy.  Sleeping is the only rescue from the horrid hangover.  It's Sunday morning, my alarm clock showed 2:13 PM, so it's really 8:01 in the morning.  I went to bed about 4 hours ago.  Just before I slip back to sleep, I reach into the pockets of the pants I wore last night.  I'm still wearing them.  As usual, my tab is in my back pocket.  Scared of what I'm about to see, I unfold the receipt.  It's about as bad as I thought.  The hangover suddenly feels warranted.  Guess I'll sleep this one off.  As usual.

I'm almost 26.  It's normal to do this still, right?

Missouri Versus Colorado: The Brown Out Game

I've managed to make it to every home football game since I was a freshman at Mizzou in the fall of 2003.  This season was no different.  After we helped Craig move in to his new place, Timmy, Craig and I headed to Columbia to relive the irresponsibility of college again.  Missouri versus Colorado, a game of relatively little weight aside for the fact that Colorado is a conference opponent.  We've handily beaten them for years.  Seriously, it's been a bloodbath.  The last five years' scores have been: 26-0, 36-17, 58-0, 55-10, and 28-13.  This year, game day is October 9th.  We begin tailgating profusely.  A few of us had tickets to the game.  I did not.  Instead, I watched the game in a bar with some friends.  That means we drank for another 2 hours.

After the rest of the guys got out of the game, I met them at McNally's.  This is when the night begins.  Javo and his girlfriend were there, Craig and his girlfriend were there, then there was me and Timmy.  The couples decide they want to go sit in the hot tub at Matt's place.  I turn to Timmy and with my saddest of sad faces, I ask "you're not going to leave, are you Timmy?"

"No."

"Good!  Can we just get really, really drunk?"

"Oh yea."

At this time, we proceed to the bar.  The couples leave.  We begin by taking a shot of Jameson. That leads to another shot of Jameson.  That leads to several shots of Jameson.  We decide it's time to leave and go to another bar.  This is when the brown out begins.  Let me explain what it means to "brown out".  It's a less severe black out.  You remember certain things, forget others, and with a little help from witnesses, pictures, or police reports, you can piece together your night.  Everyone has browned out, this one is a little more intriguing than most.

I have no idea what bar we went to after McNally's, where it was, or what street it was on.  When we walked in, it was very, very silent.  There were three other people in the bar.  It was a nice, chic place.  Dim lighting, candles on the tables, sleek bar, not the kind of place two liquored up college football fans should be.  In the best decision of the night, we take more shots and order some whiskey cokes.  I'm  mid sip of my whiskey when Timmy notices a guy we went to high school with.  If my vocal cords weren't too busy getting doused in rail whiskey, I would've tried to stop what happened next.  Timmy called him out.

"Finef!  Where you at?!"  Finef looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you?"

"Tobaggon.  Mantis Tobaggon," he replied suavely.  

I choke on my whiskey at the reference to It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia.  Finef was not having it.  The bartender was not amused.  The two girls with Finef look angry.  Timmy and I begin to panic.  To mend the situation, we do what seems logical.  We order more shots! Shots for everyone!  I remember throwing my head back to take the shot.

Scene missing.

When I come to, I'm looking at my feet, one in front of the other, quicker and quicker, my pace is picking up, my arms are pumping and I'm breathing heavy.  I'm in a full sprint down an unfamiliar alley.  Timmy is behind me. I have no idea why we're running.  When I look behind Timmy, I see why.  We're being chased by at least 15 guys.  One of them stops, takes off his shirt and begins flexing, trying to intimidate us.  Being the sarcastic, scrappy, witty drunk that I am, I begin to make fun of him.  Or, as Timmy puts it, saying "some truly hurtful, angry things".  Timmy picks me up and carries me down the alley as I'm still antagonizing the shirtless guy.

Everything goes blank.

I come to in the passenger seat of a huge van.  The first things I see are, again, my feet.  My glorious Chuck Taylors.  I look behind me and there's Timmy, sitting in the back seat of the van.  He's yelling.  "Bethel!  Bethel!  Bethel!"  That's a street in Columbia that's kind of close to where we were staying.  Sort of.

Nighty night.

When my awareness returns, I'm sitting down on a front porch, leaning against the door of a house.  The place looks familiar.  While trying to figure out where it is, something comes flying toward me and hits the door I'm leaning against with a loud thud. Then, the object falls on my head.  Angrily, I mumble "what the fuck?"  Then, I hear it again.  Woosh, woosh, woosh, thump!  This time, I see what it is.  It's a newspaper flying through the air.  Timmy is in the front yard, throwing newspapers at the front door.  By some miracle, we got back to the house we were staying at.  Throwing newspapers, it's the new knocking.

One of the guys that lives there answers the door and looks at Timmy, "not cool dude".  We go in and I instantly pass out on the couch.  The next morning, we decide on HuHot for food.  Whatever, I was still drunk, I went with it.  HuHot sounded good until I made the stir fry on the first recipe card I came across. The Burn Your Samurai.  Not the best hangover cure.

I don't plan on browning out again soon.         

     

The Walk Of A Pallbearer

I look at my mother and exhale loudly, hoping to find some sort of relief before I open the door.  I pull the handle and step into the chilly Ohio day.  The frosty grass crunches beneath my shoes.  It's a dreary day.  Gray and gusty, the kind of days I normally like.  Not today.

***

It's slightly warmer than usual in St. Louis.  The sun is up and it's a picture-perfect day  I decide to go for a run around the city.  I run up Washington Avenue, head toward Busch Stadium and then loop through the Expansion Park and under the Arch.  I'm feeling pretty good, so I decide to do a few repeats on the stairs by the Mississippi.  I always like doing stairs because people watch me and look flabergasted that someone would willingly run up and down several flights of stairs.  I enjoy the attention.  I'm a narcissist.

I head back toward my apartment.  I enter the lobby and get on the elevator, drenched in sweat.  I go up 29 floors and head to 2902.  I take a drink of water and walk to my room to get ready for a shower.  My phone rings.  It's my dad.  A slight pang of terror surges through my body.  "This is it" I say to myself.  I hesitate to answer the call.  "Hello?  Dad?"

***

The smell of winter weaves its way up my nostrils as I walk toward the hearse with my brother and my dad.  It's not quite spring in the north east.  Cold air bites at my lungs which had adjusted to the warm air of the car.  The pallbearers gather behind the hearse and listen to the funeral director's instructions.  I couldn't tell you who else was there besides my uncle, my brother, my father and me.  The whole scene is like a distant, faded memory.  It's an old photo that you find in a shoebox from a different lifetime.  It's not that it was long ago, it's that I'm struggling to get through the moment.  Fighting for every second.  As a natural defense mechanism, I remove myself from the reality of the day and watch the event as if I'm a bird flying over head, unaware of the situation unfolding below.

The funeral director opens the back of the hearse and rolls out the casket.  We each take our places on either side.  I grab the pall, lock eyes with my dad, and grit my teeth.  I can see my breath while I exhale the remaining courage out of my body.

***

I hang up the phone.  The only thing I can summon the strength to do is stare out of my bedroom window.  Staring at the trees, the bricks and mortar, the grass, the steel, the river, the Arch, gravity strikes me.  Taking a few steps backward, I find my bed and sit on the corner.  My eyes are still locked on some distant object outside my window.  My hands find there way on to my face and my palms sink in to my eye sockets.  I can't imagine the pain that my father is experiencing.  The conversation replays in my mind, echoing endlessly.

"Bopaw passed away last night."  Looking for something to hold on to, something to grasp, I focus on the strength in my dad's voice.  Amazingly, he still has some.  Thankfully, I find it and latch on to it.  I need it.  The conversation continues.  He explains how it happened, where he was, what he was doing.  He can describe it down to every painful detail.  This is his personal Kennedy assassination.  His own September eleventh.  Cancer.  It's a mother fucker.

I try to be strong.  He can see through my facade.  He calls me out as he passes the phone to my grandmother.  "He's crying, mom."

***

We begin walking. carrying the weight of an entire lifetime in the casket.  It's lighter than I expected, but the duty of our jobs is infinitely heavy.  It weighs down on our arms and bones.  We march on.

***

Travel arrangements are made.  My mom picks me up on her way from Omaha.  We talk gossip, girls, headlines, love, love lost, and family.  The farther east we drive, the deeper the temperature drops.  The climate changes.  I stare through my reflection and watch the fields and trees go by my window.  Hours later, we arrive at the hotel and meet up with my brother and my dad.  We head over to my grandmother's house.  She's doing better than I thought she would.  We catch up and share stories.  Before we head back to the hotel we stop at a grocery store and buy some vodka, rum and various mixers.  We all watch TV and have a few drinks before bed.  

The next day, we go to the wake.  We show up a little early.  I struggle with approaching the casket.  I do it anyway.  We all walk up as a family to see my grandfather.  My grandmother brushes his hair with her hand and holds his face.  "He never did look right with his teeth in," she manages.  Normally, that would garner a laugh out of me.  In this context, it is heart breaking.                             

***

During the walk from the hearse to the service, my uncle accidentally catches the back of my foot with his shoe.  I stumble a little.  A sudden terror of tripping waves over me.  The feeling subsides as my next step finds the ground.  I focus on not falling for the remainder of the walk on the uneven ground.  It seems like we traveled the distance of a marathon.  In reality, it was more like 40 feet.  During the trip, I realize what I'm doing.  I'm carrying my grandfather, Bopaw, to his final resting place.  We have been entrusted with a precious duty.  Carrying my father's father to the location he will be for the rest of time.  The unbearable finality of the act places its weight firmly on my shoulders.        

***

People started arriving at the funeral home for the service.  I roamed the room, examining the pictures and keepsakes.  A strange thing happened that day.  My dad would introduce me to other people there, "this is my son, Robert, he's named after dad."  I knew I was named after him, but it wasn't of much consequence until then.  I felt like I had a responsibility now.  A name to protect.  Expectations to live up to.  A memory to carry on.  People continued filing in to the room and we took our seats.  There was a small service and then we left.  We went to my grandmother's house and ate, shared more stories, and talked about Bopaw.  We head back to our hotel. The funeral is tomorrow.

My alarm woke me up abrasively.  We went to Nana's house where we met my uncle and then we drove to the cemetery.  The car slowly rolled to a stop.  This was the day no one was looking forward to.  I kept thinking that I don't know how to be a pallbearer.  It seems too big of a responsibility for some one who's in their 20s.  I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs with warm air before I step out of the car.  I lift my head and look out the windshield.  It's a dreary day.  Gray and gusty, the kind of day I normally like.  

It's Worth More Than $293 To Me, Effie

Cars.  What are they to you?  A mode of transportation.  A way to get to point B from point A.  Right?  Not my car.  My car has character.  My car is my girl.  Like any good relationship, you go through the ups and downs, but you always remain happy.  Always committed.  My 1996 Mitsubishi Eclipse and I have been through a lot together.  If you've read this blog before, know me, or have seen my facebook, you know that I complain about her a lot.  That's the mark of a good relationship, isn't it?  Complaining about her a lot?  About how she drives you crazy?  But, no matter what, you still love her.  You still go home to her at night.  She's your rock.  You don't know what you would do without her.  You would be directionless, stuck with no where to go.  Just like I feel about my baby.  My little Eclipse.  I've known her since I was 17.  I'll never forget the first time I saw her.

I had been driving my grandfathers black 1993 Chevy S10 for a year in high school.  My parents and I had been looking for a new car for me.  I was obsessed with Honda Preludes at the time.  I want a sexy, sleek, girl attracting, hormone machine.  At the time, a Honda Prelude fit the bill for me.  My parents and I looked and looked and looked.  I probably bought 75 issues of AutoTrader from the CFM (which is now a Circle K) on Highway K after cross country practice.  Then it happened.  We found one.  A beautiful dark blue, 5 speed, Honda Prelude.  Awesome!  We put an offer on it.  The seller comes up with some bullshit about his girlfriend really liking the car and not being sure if he wants to sell it.  Typical.  Boy likes car, car is a lesbian and actually likes other girl.  I've seen it happen a million times.  So, after minutes of grieving, I picked up the shattered pieces of my heart and pushed forward.  Then we found her.  My baby. A 1996 Mitsubishi Eclipse at a car dealership on Manchester.  Sleek, green, grey interior, 5 speed transmission, sexy, girl attracting (right?), hormone machine.  I liked it.  I wanted it.  I didn't know why.  It's like spotting a girl from across the bar that you absolutely have to talk to.

I went home after cross country practice and my parents were out.  The phone rang and I answered.  "Hello, may I speak to Rob please?"
"This is Rob," I responded.
"Yes, Rob, that '96 Eclipse you were looking at? Remember?"
"I do."
"We just sold it and I wanted to let you know, it's no longer available.  I'm sorry."
"Oh.  O..okay.  Thank you for letting me know. Have a nice night."

That's two cars that broke my heart.  The search begins again.  I pull an AutoTrader from my book bag and begin looking for suitable replacements.  Then, the phone rings again.  Maybe the buyer changed his mind suddenly!  I answered the phone with hope.  It was my parents.  They needed me to help them unload groceries when they got home.  Damn.  When I heard the garage open, I walked outside and there she was.  The Eclipse came back to me.  She was backing into my driveway and I watched every beautiful second of it.  It's exactly like a gorgeous girl walking toward you, backwards.  Just imagine that.  My parents had colluded with the salesman to play an elaborate (and heart breaking) prank on me.  That moment was the start of a beautiful, stressful, and very memorable relationship.

The next several weeks were spent in that car with my dad.  He taught me how to drive a manual transmission in that car in a sloped parking lot at John Weldon Elementary on Weldon Springs road during the spring of 2002.  I must've killed that car 300 times before I got out of first gear.  At 17, your car is your livelihood.  It's who you are.  It's a way to get out of the house.  It's a way to be cool when you can drive to school.  It's a way to get to your part time job at the movie theater.  It's a way to take girls on dates to the movie theater that you work part time at.  It's a way to drive home from a date that went awful because the girl realized you took her to the movie theater you work part time at because it's free.  I took excellent care of my Eclipse.  She was insured, she was given a bath 3 times a week, sometimes 4 or 5.  If you were my neighbor back then, you'd swear I was trying to wash the paint off the car.  I waxed her, I buffed her, I vacuumed, ArmorAlled, and dried her.  She was spotless.  She was happy.  I was happy.  This is when she stopped being an "it" and started being a "her".  She had a personality.

Then, I went off to college.  The first cracks in our relationship formed.  She didn't want me to go.  The very first day I left Wisconsin to go to college (queue the triumphant music!), she over heated in the middle of no where in Iowa (queue the sad trombone).  Literally, no where.  The tow truck driver's name was, I kid you not, Bubba.  He spent the entire hour long drive back to civilization explaining to me how to pick up girls.  I'm going out on a limb here, but I think Bubba and I are looking for different things in women.  Things such as teeth and the ability to form sentences.  My mom and unce came and got me from my aunt's apartment in Des Moine.  We went back to Wisconsin and I would attempt to make the journey again a few days later.  I eventually made it to Mizzou with my car.  I got over the little tiff she put on in Iowa.  For a freshman, a car isn't of much consequence.  You live on campus, you go to class on campus, you get your food on campus.  You're rarely in your car.  You use it on weekends to go on beer runs.  She was given the name "The Teal Streak".  So, my relationship with my car changed. I only used her when I needed her.  I rarely washed her any more.  Oil changes became rare.  I neglected her.  She became angry.

Then, one day, when I needed her the most, she broke down on me.  I was supposed to take a girl out to dinner.  My car became jealous and she threw a rod during a temper tantrum.  She made the most piercing, painful noise.  I hurt her and she was screaming at me!  I was, as I put it, "too traditional" to let the girl drive.  Whatever that means.  I eventually was able to borrow my cousin's car to get together with her.  I whipped up some lasagna and took it over to her place.  Turns out, the entire engine needed to be replaced.  $4,000.  Bank of Mom paid for that one, thankfully.  Sure, there were various other malfunctions and hiccups during college, but we made it through.  That's more than you can say about most college relationships.

Post college, my relationship with my car changed again.  When I was 17, it was a way to get away from home. Now, older, it's a way for me to get home.  She's my connection to my parents, to the holidays, to safety and familiarity.  She was how I got to work, how I made money to pay my bills.  She got me through the tangled web of highway that is St. Louis.  Well, her and a GPS.  She started breaking down more often, the problems started being more severe.  5th gear stopped working, the heat stopped working, the AC stopped working, the exhaust had a hole in it.  She was getting tired, but she was a fighter.  She kept going, just for me.  She knew I needed her.  She even got hit pretty hard on Highway 70 and still got me to work that day.  She did finally give in, though.  This last summer.  She no longer starts.

So many memories with that car.  So many road trips, dates, concerts, Proms, Homecomings, high school dances, parties, football games, end of semester drives back home, summer breaks, spring breaks, and car washes.  There was that time that Matt and I got stranded at Circuit City (remember those?) in Columbia when the timing belt shredded.  The time I blew two tires on one pot hole trying to leave Rolla, MO.  I wish I kept the e-mail I sent to my English Lit professor.  He said it was one of the funniest things he's ever read.  The countless rides that AJ and I took after I would get in a particularly nasty fight with a girlfriend.  Or, one of my favorite stories, when I spun off of I-35 during a blizzard while on the phone with Matt.  I can only imagine the terror he felt while listening to me freak out mid-spin.

All of those stories and memories are why today, when I got my quote from Pick-N-Pull, a company that buys "junk" cars, I was a little bummed.  I got an e-mail from Effie Logan stating they would buy my little baby for $293.  She's priceless to me, of course.  But, she's tired.  She needs rest.  So, our relationship comes to an end, as all relationships do.  My once happy girl, spotless and shiny, now sits in a dark garage, covered in dust.  It's the decent thing to do, to put her down.  Maybe her parts can keep other cars on the road, so other Eclipse drivers can keep making memories.

Rest easy, girl.

Facebook Transmissions, Part 4: Enter Logic, At Last.

Originally posted to facebook on March 22nd, 2010.

This is, in part, a response to this article:

Enjoy.

It was good to hear one thing, though: 

"...they're studying the Constitution and the Federalist Papers, they're reading history and case law, they're showing up at rallies and meetings, and a slew of conservative candidates are throwing their hats into the ring."

It's about time they started educating themselves on the very document we pay them to uphold.

Mr. Hubbell claims Barack Obama's efforts to nationalize health care "have been met with fierce resistance." Of course it has! Because the right wing slanders it as a "government takeover," they say your beloved grandmother will be murdered by "death panels," it will plunge the country further into debt and I swear I heard Bill O'Reilly say there is an amendment hidden in there about legalizing the clubbing of baby seals. But I digress. 

However, when Americans are asked whether they support healthcare reform when it described fairly and without biased, guess what? Most do. People don't support the bill because of very clever and very effective misinformation by conservatives. The New York Times' David Brooks had a wonderful piece to describe this:

Let’s say we had a year-long debate in the run-up to the Iraq war. Let’s say at the end of that debate, 33 percent of Americans thought it was a good idea to invade Iraq, 46 percent thought it was a bad idea and the rest weren’t sure. Then let’s say that there were a bunch of elections in places like New Jersey and Virginia in the middle of this debate and George Bush’s party lost them all badly. Let’s say at the end of this debate there was a senate race in Wyoming in which a Democratic candidate made preventing the war a central plank in his campaign. Let’s say Bush went out to Wyoming and told voters they had to support the Republican to save the Iraq invasion. And let’s say the Democrat still went on to win that Wyoming Senate seat by more than 5 percentage points.

Would you have advised George Bush under these circumstances to go ahead and invade Iraq? [...] Or would you have said, George, I know you really want to invade Iraq. I know you think an invasion will do a lot of good for the world. But the American people are pretty clear about this issue. Maybe you should show a little doubt. Maybe you ought to listen and give this whole thing a second look.

I think the analogy here is obvious. For those of you that still don't get it, substitute healthcare for Iraq War and Massachusetts for Wyoming. There's a problem with this analogy. Lets say we had this debate over the Iraq invasion, and there were genuine differences in opinion. However, one side was mostly telling the truth and the other side was mostly confusing the public and telling lies. At the end of the debate, opinion polls reflected that the side telling lies had convinced a majority of the public, and we invaded Iraq.

Oh wait. That actually happened.

And we know how that turned out.

The Bush administration told some doozies to get us into Iraq. The administration was pitching the existence of the dreaded WMDs and Saddam's connection to Al Qaeda, both of which have been proven false. So, the NYT's piece above is ironic. Once again, one side has told a lot of lies to help alter the course of public opinion. Those lies have had an impact, according to a Pew poll (poll). Among those opposed to the health care bill, majorities think that their choice of doctors would be impaired, their out of pocket costs would go up, their wait times would increase, and the quality of their care would suffer. Meanwhile, only 27% of Americans opposed to the health care bill, and only 39% overall, believe that their ability to get coverage would improve if they had a pre-existing condition.

If that's what people believe, then it's amazing that healthcare even has 40% support. I don't mean to say there aren't legitimate reasons to oppose the bill. It reduces Medicaid spending. It contains a small mandate that might be a bad deal for some people, the excise tax or the millionaire's tax for example. Nevertheless, polls have consistently shown that support for the healthcare program increases dramatically, when you provide people with a neutral and accurate description of what the legislation actually contains (Essence of Health Care Engame). 

What's the next conservative argument? Oh yes, the "TARP bailouts and stimulus spending have shown little positive effect on the national economy." Perhaps people have forgotten who signed the TARP and stimulus legislation. Your boy, Dubya. That being said, I believe TARP and stimulus were the right thing to do. (In the interest of full disclosure, I do work for Citigroup which accepted $45 billion of TARP, repaid $20 billion with interest, and asked the government to convert the remaining $25 billion into preferred shares of stock. Before you get too angry, taxpayers, your shares are currently worth $30.5 billion.) If you think the recession was bad, how about another depression? You think 10% unemployment is bad? Try 20%. What would you have rather done? Let the banks fail? That's exactly what happened before the Great Depression. I believe the problem to focus on is the "too big to fail" aspect certain banks have. I also whole-heartedly disagreed with the auto bailout as it was a regional issue and not of national or global consequence. Of course, all of these arguments are based on predictions of what would have happened, but I think it's safe to say that without TARP or the stimulus the economy would be worse off. I'm not claiming that Barack Obama is the next FDR, but he and Ben Bernanke and Timothy Geithner took us back from the brink, I think its important that you realize that. I'll even throw in Hank Paulson - he was put in an impossible position and handled is as best he could.

What did the Republicans want instead of healthcare? They thought we should focus on jobs. So, Washington passed a jobs bill. There are more in the works. This was hailed as a bipartisan bill to help stimulate job growth! Bipartisanship still exists! Do you know how many Republicans voted for the bill? 11. There are 41 non-Dems in the Senate. This speaks volumes on the definition of bipartisan in Washington. 

The next argument is the use of reconciliation to push the bill through. While I cannot say I'm completely for the use of reconciliation, if the minority party would realize that it's the minority party, liberals wouldn't need to use parliamentary maneuvers to achieve their goals. Instead, Biden got nuclear on you. Not to mention, the conservatives are famous for using the exact same procedure. The most recent of which was Bush's tax bills. So, thanks for the tip, guys. 

To speak more broadly, conservatives and Tea Party activists, Mr. Hubbell included, like to use the rhetoric of an upcoming "revolution."

I sincerely hope the "revolution" that Mr. Hubbell speaks of is a metaphor. This is not 1776, in which representation is blocked by a distant power. Those who take the revolutionary metaphor too literally, such as Mr. Hubbell, are not engaged in politics, they are engaged in sedition. The Obama administration proposes to expand government; it is not preparing to overthrow the government. As I said earlier, the Federal Reserve just helped to prevent a depression by increasing the money supply. It deserves a little thanks.

Every political movement is threatened by the impatient and irresponsible. William Lloyd Garrison called for the secession of the North to avoid the contaminating evil of slavery, while Lincoln worked to preserve the union. Malcolm X initially found the American tradition corrupt, while the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. found vast resources of reform within that tradition. The heroes of America are heroes of unity.

Our political system is designed for vigorous disagreement. It is not designed for irreconcilable contempt. Such contempt loosens the ties of citizenship and undermines the idea of patriotism. "How can we love our country," asked Ronald Reagan, "and not love our countrymen?"

Facebook Transmissions, Part 3: Music I Listen To: An Explanation and the Triumphant Return of Because

Originally posted to facebook on March 21st, 2010.

In the last week I've added 1,302 songs (8.83 gigs) to my library and I'm pretty stoked about it. Since my parents instilled in me the importance of sharing at a very young age, you get to reap the rewards. Now, I'm not claiming to be an authority on music, nor am I trying to show off some innate ability to find obscure bands (many of these aren't). The reason I'm doing this is because good music makes any situation better, any day brighter, and any night more fun - no matter where you are or who you're with. I believe the right song at the right time is what creates perfect moments. I want to share with you some of my latest discoveries as well as some of my oldest favorites so you can have as many of those perfect moments as possible.

I was inspired by a recent article in Esquire entitled "50 Songs Every Man Should Listen To." I highly recommend it. Some of the bands in this note came right off of that list. 

These are in no particular order.

Temper Trap

Because when "Sweet Disposition" comes on my iPod when I'm running through the streets of downtown St. Louis as the sun sets, surrounded by tall buildings and the energy of the city before the nightlife, I feel like I can do anything. I like that feeling. Because during the summer when my friends and I are having drinks on the roof and a slight breeze blows through as we look over the Mississippi and city lights and this song comes up on the playlist, I feel like everything is perfect. I like that feeling too.

Mumm-Ra

Remember the feeling of an excellent relationship? No? Let me remind you. You smile every time she walks in the room, she constantly takes up every last corner of your thoughts, and you swear you've never been so happy in your life. "She's Got You High" will get you as close to that place as you can get without actually being there. Unfortunately, this British indie rock group is no longer making music. That reminds me of the shittiness of a break up. Boo.

Innerparty System

Because if you can listen to them without at least tapping your foot, you may no be human. Check out "Don't Stop."

The Black Keys

Because any band that can record a record in a vacant rubber factory in Akron, Ohio has to be good. It helps that Dan Auerbach is a God damn genius. Soulful rock just doesn't get the recognition that it should. If you close your eyes as you listen to them, you'd swear you're in New Orleans or Tennessee.

The Smiths

Because there's something cool about the simplicity of their songs. There's also something to be learned from a band that's been around as long as they have. For instance, they're right about pretty girls. They do make graves.

The Black Angels, Dan Auerbach, and Radio Moscow

Because there is no such thing as too much awesome rock. Radio Moscow is proof that ridiculous solo guitar riffs still do exist. See also The Black Keys.

Science for Girls

Because collaborations are all the rage and some nights are made for staying in, sipping on a Hendrick's and tonic (with a slice of cucumber in it, thanks Julia) and relaxing. I did that once.

Broken Bell

Because an indie superband is a beautiful thing and The High Road is as close to perfect as a song can get.

She & Him

Because I am in love with Zooey Deschanel. Period. This is where I put in my shameless plug for (500) Days of Summer.

Kings of Leon

Because no matter how many times they play Sex On Fire, I will sing along. Their other records are good, too. Yes, they do have other records. No, you probably won't like them. Excellent live show.

Brand New

Without a doubt, the best live show I have ever seen. Brand New at the Beaumont in Kansas City in November of 2007 showed me God for 12 songs. Pure talent. Pure awesome talent. Play Crack the Sky is the most beautiful song I think I've ever heard. Not to mention the rest of their songs that will violently rock your face off and then back on again.

After Midnight Project

I dare you to listen to "Take Me Home" and not rock out. After that, listen to the acoustic version and try not to be equally as impressed.

The Hotrats

Because they single handedly disprove the "Those who 'can,' start a band. Those who 'can't,' start a cover band" theory. It's the cover band side project of Supergrass. I like their rendition of "Damaged Goods" and "Love is the Drug" better than the originals.

Autovein

Because "Suicides & Lullabies" and "Come To You" changed my life. Because these guys play Sidebar every Thursday as Optimus Prime and the Masters of the Universe. Because they're from Saint Louis. Because they're better than Story of the Year. Because they're really fucking good.

The Early November

Because of the finger snapping. The finger snapping.

Ace Enders and a Million Different People

Because when The Early November broke up, Ace Enders wasn't done writing the brilliant music of a heartbroken genius. The first track on his record will hook you.

Rogue Wave

Because "Eyes" is a fantastic night time driving song. The next time I drive home to Omaha after work, I will listen to this song when the sun goes down. You've heard this song, but you'll never be able to remember where you heard it. I know I can't.

Warren Zevon

Because there are two things that can solve every problem you will ever face. One, wisdom from your father. Two, a glass of whiskey and a Warren Zevon song.

Silversun Pickups

This band will forever remind me of the first summer in St. Louis. I spent summer weekends in my apartment, at the pool, walking down Washington Avenue, hanging out at Sidebar, or drinking on a patio some where. Always with great people. We started every night with "Panic Switch" and a drink. I have yet to come across a Silversun Pickups song that I don't like.

Bob Dylan

Duh.

Taking Back Sunday, Finch, and Matchbook Romance

Because in college, Craig, Meis and I would drunkenly sing songs by these bands at the top of our lungs in the basement of our house on Southwood Drive in Columbia. Songs that are connected to memories like that never get old. Also, lyrics as bold as "the truth is you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt" don't come around very often. There's nothing wrong with revisiting teenage angst every once in a while.

Blind Pilot, Okkerville River, Cave Singers, and The Fruit Bats

Because nothing beats sitting in a coffee place listening to good folk and people watching on a Sunday morning. Not that I've ever done that, it just sounds like it would be a really cool, hipster thing to do.

Rocksonix

Because sometimes (very rarely) you just have to blast your ears with so much bass that they start bleeding. Anyone that can remix Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek" and make it awesome gets props.

Eels

Because any song that Mark Oliver Everette writes is a staggering work of heartbreaking genius.

Metric

Because I want to hold Emily Haines' hand.

The xx

Because when you're deathly hungover in Vegas, this is the only band you will want to listen to. They make all your problems melt away.

David Nail

Because "Red Light" is the only country song that I have ever downloaded.

Jay Reatard

James Mercer put it best: "When I heard Jay Reatard before he died. I thought there could be a new wave of American punk. It's still possible. Unfortunately, he won't be leading the charge." He died from a cocaine overdose in January. Alcohol was a contributing factor.

I could go on forever. So, in the interest of wanting people to actually read all of this, I'll stop here. There are 35 bands and 26 uses of "because." Get downloading.