Ryan Osentowski – Page 9 – The Conservative Blind Guy

Pass the Popcorn

I’m gonna write about something positive because…well…I need something positive in my life right now.

On Facebook the other night, I opined that I missed the era of appointment television. This was back in the glory days when 24, The Sopranos, Deadwood and Breaking Bad all reigned supreme. I miss the anticipation of a new episode, new plot developments and new water cooler buzz the next day after Tony would whack someone, or Jack Bauer would torture another Muslim terrorist.

That said, 2019 is an exciting year for those of us who have the recent TV nostalgia bug. Three movies are due out this year that serve as codas to previous TV giants.

The first one is a series that I already touched upon last October. Deadwood was a show that was canceled before its time. On Friday, May 31, HBO will correct that grave injustice by running Deadwood: The Movie. We’ll get to see Al Swearengen and all of the gang of Deadwood one last time before they ride off into the sunset. I’ve already shared my thoughts and hopes for the upcoming movie, but of the three, this is the one for which I’m most excited. It’s probably because fans have been waiting years for this thing to drop.

The second one excites me, though not to the degree of the Deadwood epic. David Chase is filming a prequel to The Sopranos called, The Many Saints of Newark. No, guys, it won’t explain the great black screen of doom that still frustrates many Sopranos fans. Rather, it will focus on a young Tony Soprano in the late ‘60’s when the Italians were embroiled in racial hostility with African-Americans. The interesting thing about this movie is that James Gandolfini’s son Michael is set to play young Tony. We’ll see how that goes. The thing that gives me pause is that I think David Chase is going to fuck up the timeline. I just re-watched the entire series of The Sopranos and it was stated more than once that Tony Soprano was born in 1960. At one point, Carmela tells a reporter that Tony was three when JFK was assassinated. So by the time Tony was 15, Nixon would already have been impeached. I don’t know how chase is going to reconcile this obvious continuity error. Still, I’ll go see the movie and hopefully will enjoy it.

The third movie is the one you would think I would be most excited about, but I am the least excited. Earlier this year, Vince Gilligan announced that we are going to get a Breaking Bad movie. Publicists are still playing it coy, but everyone knows that the movie will star Aaron Paul reprising his role as doomed Jesse Pinkman. When we last saw Jesse, Walt had freed him from captivity from Todd and Uncle Jack and Jesse drove off laughing crazily as Walt died in his meth lab over the strains of, “Baby Blue.”

My problem is that this served as the perfect ending to Breaking Bad. Walt died, Jesse was free but scarred for life and Walt’s family may or may not have been able to live in comfort thanks to his efforts on their behalf. Those unanswered questions are part of what makes the finale so good. Not everything had to be wrapped up with a pretty bow on top.

Whereas Deadwood feels completely necessary and welcome and the Sopranos prequel may or may not work, but can’t hurt anything, the Breaking Bad movie feels superfluous. Sure, Jesse was a compelling character, but without the presence of Bryan Cranston as Walt off whom Jesse used to play so wonderfully, the story will feel hollow. Yes, I may be selling Vince Gilligan short, but he gave us Better Call Saul and, for me, the results are mixed. Maybe Breaking Bad is that lightning that only strikes once. Yet, if possible, I will be in the theater on opening night, popcorn and Peanut Butter M & M’s in hand as the credits roll.

Even if all three wrap-up movies suck, it will be a pleasure to have something to look forward to that doesn’t involve a super hero, a transforming car or a talking CGI animal. I’ll take it, and pass the fuckin’ popcorn. If you don’t have any hot butter, I’ll settle for canned peaches. What about baked xiti?

The Whip and the Bayonet

Several days ago, Speaker Pelosi announced that she supported a bill that would study the issue of reparations to the African-American community for the crime of slavery.

Before I continue, let’s have an understanding that this is never going to happen. Speaker Pelosi and many others paying lip service to the concept of reparations know that it’s never going to be a reality. They know it just as surely as they know that Mexico is never going to pay for the border wall that is never going to be built. The only difference between Pelosi and Trump is that Pelosi understands the nature of the game she’s playing, whereas I’m not convinced that Trump does.

Having said that, the issue of reparations is worth discussing. As you can guess, I am not in favor of reparations for slavery. This is due to the fact that I am a racist. I hate blacks. I don’t care that they were enslaved. Let them eat dirt for all I care!

I don’t mean what I just said, of course, but I just wrote what those of a certain political persuasion are going to read and/or hear once they get to this portion of my entry. No matter what I say, people have a remarkable ability to hear only what they want to hear and make up the rest.

The real reason I oppose reparations has nothing to do with race itself; at least, not race as we understand it today. We can take all of the well-founded conservative arguments against reparations made by Thomas Sowell, Walter Williams and others and put them aside, if we focus only on one issue. History.

In short, we shouldn’t pay reparations because America has already paid them. Not in government checks delivered to every descendant of a slave, but by the most valuable treasure any country has to offer. Blood.

The blood that served as compensation drenched the soil at the Battle of Bull Run, at the Battle of Antietam, at Chancellorsville, Shiloh, Gettysburg, Richmond, Vicksburg, Wilson’s Creek, Glorieta Pass and Atlanta. It ran in many rivers, from the Mississippi to the Ohio to the Potomac.

These were only the major battles. These were the names that we all memorized long enough to pass a test in a classroom somewhere, then promptly forgot. These names of combat sites don’t account for the thousands of people lost in minor skirmishes and encounters throughout the theater of the war. They do not account for those who died as prisoners of war. Nor do they account for the thousands more civilians who died when cities, towns, farms and plantations were overrun and destroyed by enemy forces. Nor do they account for the deaths not incurred in battle; disease, starvation, riots and general unrest in the wake of various occupations.

Not all of the blood spilled during the Civil War was life blood. Much of it gushed from wounds that resulted in loss of limbs, of dignity and morale. Many soldiers who were wounded continued fighting. Medical discharges were unheard of during that period, particularly in the Confederacy. Every lash of the evil whip of slavery was answered by a bayonet in the stomach, a musket ball splattering blood and brains upon the ground, of dead and drowning men leaping from a ship torn by cannonballs, and by the silent, agonized gasps of those dying in makeshift hospitals, bedrooms and barns all across the war-torn country. Every black family torn apart by cruel slave owners was answered by a white family being torn apart by the ravages of war. And for those who survived, there were the ghosts of four years that would go down in history as the most bloody conflict America ever endured.

And finally, America paid with it’s dearest blood when it’s president was assassinated on April 14, 1865 by a Confederate sympathizer as the war was drawing to its conclusion.

According to the National Park Service, the final estimated casualty total of the American Civil War was 1,030,000 dead. It is impossible for us to begin to grasp that number. To break it down into something more comprehensible, that figure represented about three percent of the population of the United States at the time. Both sides of the conflict suffered tremendous losses. The Union lost an estimated 853,838 souls. That number alone is staggering, particularly when you realize that they were fighting on the right side of history. The Confederacy paid even more dearly, losing an estimated 914,660 souls.

Today, the Civil War is merely a story to us. We can read it about it in books, watch it in movies, see it recreated in videogames or in some town squares in the South. But we can never really understand it. If we could, we would have no talk of reparations to a people who have already been compensated. Nor would we tolerate the emotional tantrums of a juvenile political movement that seeks short term gratification by toppling statues that represent America at its best and worst.

Perhaps the argument will perseverate past my initial premise. Maybe the opportunists, glad-handers and political parasites would not view the idea of bloodshed in war as satiation for their greed. I can already hear the greedy cries of, “It’s not enough!” I can anticipate one argument. “Ryan, what about reconstruction? What about Jim Crow? What about 20th century segregation?” Should we not offer reparations to African-Americans for that?

My reply is simple. If so, let the Democratic Party pay the bill. When it comes to the issue of slavery and post slavery racism against blacks, the Republicans are, and have always been on the right side of history.

Nancy and Chuck can sign the first check.

Maybe Baby

I was devastated the other day when I learned that Jonah Goldberg is leaving The National Review. He, more than any other writer, has helped me to maintain my sanity in the socio-political realm over the past three years. Yet, I was heartened to learn that he intends to form a new conservative platform with an emphasis, not just on conservative analysis, but hard reporting as well. And by conservative, he doesn’t mean FoxNews 2.0.

It was a happy coincidence then when I read his latest newsletter, The G-File. His thoughts on abortion are (as usual) presented in a more crystallized form than I could ever have done.

So, enjoy Mr. Goldberg; if a topic such as this, complete with blood-soaked history, can ever be enjoyed. Here he is:

I don’t like debating abortion, but every now and then I get dragooned into it. The other day, I was on Guy Benson and Marie Harf’s radio show, and we got into it because Ben Sasse’s Born-Alive Abortion Survivors Protection Act bill had just gone down in flames. I like Marie quite a bit, and I think she tries very hard to give conservatives a fair hearing, so I don’t mean any of this as a personal criticism. But she ran through all of the usual arguments, the chief of which was the old saw about how conservatives are hypocrites because they want the government out of everything, yet they want the state to regulate women’s reproductive choices.

My problem with this argument is that it suffers from a profound category error. The first obligation of the state is to protect human life. This is what Max Weber was getting at when he said the state has a “monopoly on violence.” In a decent and free society, this monopoly has only a handful of legitimate exceptions. The most important and obvious is the right to self-defense, which is an absolute natural right that is prior to any form of government. You cannot pass a just and enforceable law barring people from fighting for their life when attacked.

The other exceptions are fairly minor and still fall under the regulatory power of the state. Boxers need licenses after all. Police have discretion about how to deal with bar room fights. Whether or not spanking is good or bad for kids, I think parents have a right to do it. But we all recognize that the state has a right to intervene when parents go much beyond that kind of thing. A swat on the backside for a misbehaving child isn’t the government’s business. A parent who beats or burns their kid should have their kid taken away.

This sliding scale has an analogue in the abortion debate — not theologically or scientifically perhaps — but culturally and politically. Most Americans favor abortion rights shortly after conception through the end of the first trimester. Even larger majorities are opposed to late-term abortions.

Again, putting aside the philosophical, scientific, and theological arguments, this simply makes sense. People can understandably debate whether a young embryo should be considered a human being. But there is simply no credible moral argument that a viable baby should not be considered a human being. A late-term fetus strikes most reasonable people as a baby, not some abstracted and euphemized thing called “uterine contents” or whatnot. And a delivered baby outside the womb or in the process of delivery is, simply, a baby. The Barbara Boxer view that a baby miraculously becomes a baby only after you bring it home from the hospital is a moral monstrosity.

And this is why conservative pro-lifers are not hypocrites when they say the state should intervene on the behalf of babies. The real hypocrisy cuts the other way. Liberal abortion rights supporters — speaking broadly — have no principled objection to the state regulating the size of our sodas, banning plastic straws or regulating free speech. But going by the statements and votes of the last month — by Ralph Northam, Andrew Cuomo, Kamala Harris, and so many others — they draw the line at regulating infanticide.

Harris, a 2020 hopeful who voted against Republican Nebraska Sen. Ben Sasse’s bill, would not say if abortion was ever immoral.

“I think it’s up to a woman to make that decision, and I will always stand by that,” she told The DCNF. “I think she needs to make that decision with her doctor, with her priest, with her spouse. I would leave that decision up to them.”

Harris supports the Women’s Health Protection Act (as do Elizabeth Warren, Cory Booker, Beto O’Rourke, Kristen Gillibrand, Amy Klobuchar, and Bernie Sanders). It would eliminate nearly all limits on abortion from late-term bans to abortions based on sex-selection (one wonders how they would feel if transgender fetuses could be identified in utero).

This isn’t ordered liberty; it’s the freedom of the jungle which says you can do whatever you can get away with. It’s fine to argue that “abortions” of viable, healthy, babies are rare (putting aside all the begged questions implicit in the word “healthy.” Do otherwise healthy kids with Down Syndrome count as unhealthy?). But what we’re talking about is the principle. If I said, “Look, it’s extremely rare for women to kill left-handed dudes named Todd who think E.L.O was better than the Rolling Stones,” that would be a true statement. It would not be an argument for killing that poor unlucky Todd with terrible taste in music (Jack’s view notwithstanding).

Just as socialism represents an atavistic impulse to return to pre-modern understandings of politics, the new push for killing inconvenient babies — in principle — is a barbaric step backward to pre-civilized past. Infanticide in our natural environment was incredibly common. This is from part of my book that didn’t make publication:

With the exception of the Jews, virtually all ancient societies, Western and non- Western, routinely butchered, burned, smothered or otherwise slaughtered their own children (and the children of their enemies even more). The Svans of Ancient Georgia murdered newborn girls by filling their mouths with hot ashes. In parts of Ancient China, female babies were killed by submerging them in buckets of cold “baby water.” In feudal Japan, the practice of Makibi (a term borrowed from rice farming meaning “thinning out”) was widespread. Unwanted babies — mostly girls, but also some boys, particularly twins (which were considered unlucky or dangerous in many pre-modern societies) — were snuffed out with a wet cloth. In India infants were sometimes thrown into the Ganges as sacrifices or had their throats cut.

As the anthropologist Laila Williamson famously wrote:
Infanticide has been practiced on every continent and by people on every level of cultural complexity, from hunters and gatherers to high civilization, including our own ancestors. Rather than being an exception, then, it has been the rule.

In pre-historic times, which were no Eden, our ancestors often killed their offspring because they were a real burden and adoption agencies were few and far between. And when I say a real burden, I mean a real burden. Mothers often didn’t have enough milk to feed two infants, which is why the killing of twins was so common. Crying babies when enemy tribes or predators are about are as inconvenient as hungry toddlers when food is scarce.

One aspect of the amazing miracle of the environment we live in now – i.e. civilization — is that killing babies is no longer a necessity, but a luxury. This move to disguise this hideous luxury as a new form of necessity is not a sign that we are advancing as a civilization, but that we are regressing, back to when killing babies was natural and normal.

Poor Fucking Elizabeth!

I keep meaning to write more blog entries and I sit down at the keyboard and nothing comes out. It’s like a guy who eats a block of sharp cheddar, straining on the pot at two in the morning after his gut ache keeps him awake. The primary focus of this blog was supposed to be politics, but I also write about pop culture, blindness, and occasionally, some personal observations. Politics frankly depresses me right now. So, for that matter, does pop culture. Living here in Omaha with the state of things as they are means that blindness issues now depress the holy hell out of me as well.

So, I guess I better write about something cheerful like… Monsters.

There are all kinds of monsters out there in the world. You’ve got giant mutant dinosaurs and comic book monsters and the kind that derive energy from the screams of little children and you even have Cookie Monster. Then you have real life monsters, like Cardinal McCarrick, Louis Farrakhan and Nikolas Cruz. They are all very obvious monsters.

Then, you have the monsters that aren’t so obvious. Exhibit A is Donald Trump. He’s a narcissist, a bully and a chronic liar. He has cheapened the office of the president to a level that I fear is irreparable. I call him a monster because he has done a great deal to beautify the demons of our nature.

Yes, a lot of people love to hate Donald Trump, but I find the protests of his most ardent detractors to be suspect. How many of them were happy to fuel Monster Trump before he assumed the highest office in the land?

The Hollywood left are the main culprits. That is, Hollywood, New York City, Washington D.C. and the entire space of “Flyover country,” in between. They loved The Donald when he was an eccentric millionaire mogul, beauty contest magnate and a ratings-winning reality TV star. How many of them smiled and nodded and said, “I don’t judge,” when news of his rampant philandering came out. How many just dismissed it as crap from the National Inquirer, never thinking that his actions might translate so easily to, The Swamp?

I’m not saying that Trump- was always the kind of guy who ran around yelling, “Mexico sends us nothin’ but rapists and drug dealers!” If he’d done that, his celebrity goose would’ve been cooked years ago. But how many people wrote off those same behaviors; the narcissism, the bullying, the casual misogyny, the glib lying as merely, “The Donald being The Donald?” I dare say that quite a number of folks who subsequently voted for Hillary in 2016 knew full well who and what they were getting long before it really mattered. They saw the monstrous behavior, but they did nothing to stop it. Why? Maybe fear. Maybe apathy. Maybe deep down, many of those self-same leftists who wring their hands and bay at the political moon over social injustice actually liked and admired his behavior.

If you doubt me, just google old headlines featuring Trump back in the ‘90’s and the first decade of this young millennium; headlines written by journalists who now count themselves as proud enemies of President Trump? Read some of those stories and you’ll see how Monster Trump took root.

That brings us to Exhibit B; Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Apparently, she’s a very pretty monster, indeed. You might look at her and say, “C’mon, Ry! You’re overstating it. She’s not a monster. She’s a principled woman who believes in what she believes.”

Faugh!

This is the young lady who said, ““I think that there’s a lot of people more concerned about being precisely, factually, and semantically correct than about being morally right.” This wasn’t a statement uttered in dripping sarcasm. She wasn’t speaking in error. She wasn’t even speaking in self-parody. She honest-to-God meant what she said as she defended herself to Anderson Cooper on 60 Minutes. People who love to compare the Trump era to 1984 would do well to study the Orwellian concepts in that classic novel through the prism of AOC’s remarks.

Cortez is a monster because of the toxic ideas she purveys, all wrapped up in pretty paper and bows. In America, socialism is the Frankenstein monster taking it’s very first baby breath in Victor’s laboratory. In Venezuela, Elizabeth is trying to figure out how the hell she’s gonna breathe with a crushed trachea.

And why does AOC have such traction amongst the young in particular? It’s because many mainstream citizens, particularly Republicans, chose not to care about what their young were learning on college campuses, where socialism has been allowed to flourish. If little Johnny or Janie came home with all A’s, or made good on the football field or theater stage in spite of shitty grades, mommy and daddy didn’t care. They didn’t take a larger interest in what is being taught on campus, or in the classrooms of their local high schools. Just vote no on the latest school bond issue and go on your marry way.

There are many other monsters flourishing out there under the tent of ignorance and apathy. Abortion is one. A law was just passed in New York that grants a woman the right to terminate her pregnancy up to the point of birth with a doctor’s approval. Sadly, this doesn’t surprise me. If America didn’t care about Kermit Gosnell, why would they care about a post-birth baby being murdered? The same goes for the gun debate as referenced by a friend of mine. “If people weren’t moved to take serious action after Sandy Hook, nothing will move the needle.”

Sure, many pro-lifers cared. I don’t mean the nutjobs who bombed abortion clinics or shot down abortion doctors in church. I mean the true believers who go to the March for Life every year, and who hold picket signs and stage peaceful protests. Yes, the media ignores them, but that’s not the real reason why they fail. They fail because too many people just don’t care. Oh, they might be opposed to abortion in the safe space of their own mind and heart, but they are the same people who sit quietly at a dinner party when the topic of abortion comes up because they want to be invited back. Being liked is more important than being principled.

It is apathy, more than anything else, that allow monsters like Kermit Gosnell and Adam Lanza to come out from under the bed and drink the blood of the household.

There are monsters everywhere. And as I contemplate this unsettling truth, the wind rattling outside my balcony door, the thermometer dipping below zero, I’m reminded of a quote from an underappreciated TV gem, Homicide: Life on the Street.

“You don’t have to be afraid of things that go bump in the night, if you become the thing that lurks in the darkness.”

Trump, Cortez, Gosnell, Lanza, McCarrick… They are all our modern Prometheus. They are us, and we are them. We just kid ourselves into thinking otherwise because we haven’t really survived the darkness yet.

Song of Myself

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I
know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe,
and am not contain’d between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be
slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the
mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be
shaken away.

Walt Whitman: “”Song of Myself”

If Only Cobra Commander Had Recruited Santa

Well, here we are at the Christmas season again. Too much eating, too much drinking, too much spending and too much bitching from the Scrooge types who are sick of the same 10 Christmas songs being recycled over and over again by everyone from Bing Crosby to Lady Gaga. I wonder if said Scrooge types understand that the only thing more tiresome than Christmas music, which we’ve all been hearing since a week before Halloween, is them bitching about it. Probably not. It’s not that said Scrooge types aren’t self-aware, but rather that they don’t care about being self-aware.

Anyway, I don’t know what the hell that had to do with my topic, which is toys.

I ran across a YouTube channel called, RetroBlast, which is some nerd and his wife who review ‘80’s toys and the cartoons that resulted from Ronald Reagan and said ‘80’s toys. The guy (I don’t know his name) says that the “big three” toy lines that every miniature human with a developing penis either owned or wanted were Transformers, G.I. Joe and the Masters of the Universe.

As a witness to the events between President Carter’s unceremonious departure from the White House and the dismantling of the Berlin Wall, I can state unequivocally that this is a fact. I was big on Optimus Prime and his merry band of talking robots, as well as Cobra Commander and his incontinent hiss. All of my friends were also big on Transformers and G.I. Joe. Strangely, none of us collected the He-Man toys. Some of us watched the cartoon, but that was just filler until Transformers came on at four. Besides, you have to admit that, even by today’s standards, Skeletor was a pussy compared to Megatron.

My first Transformers toy came to me Christmas of 1984. Up to that point, I was big on toys called, Super Powers Collection. These were basically action figures based on the Superfriends cartoon. A Superman figure that could actually punch the air was cool, but a tape recorder that could be changed into a robot was way, way more awesome. I played with my Joker toy for about five minutes, but kept going back to Soundwave and his little buddy housed in his chest compartment, Buzzsaw. Buzzsaw was just like Laserbeak, but with a less cool name.

I forget the name of my second toy, or third, or fourth. I do remember collecting Cliffjumper, Megatron, Skywarp, Prowl, Brawn, Slag, Inferno, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Blitzwing, Ramjet, Ironhide, Longhaul, Shockwave, Blaster, Smokescreen and the entire Airealbots team throughout the years of ‘85 and ‘86. But my biggest prize was Jetfire, a huge jet that turned into a robot that stood at about a foot tall. Mom got him for me but said I had to wait until Christmas of 1985 to open him. But then, she bribed me by telling me that if I practiced piano every day for a month without complaining, she’d give him to me. I did it, and playing that stupid E-scale was never so painless. It was the first lesson I learned about how positive rewarding can work with a kid, as long as the reward is Jetfire.

I should testify truthfully that I tried to steal a few Transformers from my classmates at school. I pilfered Swoop, Bombshell and Windcharger, but I always got caught in the end. I wasn’t a particularly clever criminal.

I will also testify that my enthusiasm for the Transformers toys was directly influenced by my love of the cartoon. Yup… I was a product of those evil capitalists who wanted to sell toys to kids. G.I. Joe and He-Man were already around in September of 1984 when the first three-part Transformers miniseries hit the airwaves of KOLN-KGIN, the CBS affiliate that covered the cities of Lincoln, Grand Island and Kearney. He-Man was kind of meh for me. Even as a kid, I always thought that John Erwin sounded like a wuss trying to pass himself off as an alpha male. Duke, Flint and Destro were more interesting. For the first time, I saw cartoon characters engage in fistfights and gun battles. Of course, none of them were ever shot and or wounded by gunfire, but who cared. Imperial Storm Troopers never hit anyone either, and Star Wars was real life action, man! So why would it matter? Still, none of those characters impressed me as did Optimus Prime as he stood atop Hoover Dam and did battle with Megatron.

I have to stop my meandering stroll down memory lane to pay homage to the guys who did the voices of The Transformers cartoon characters. Most of the boys in my tiny 4th grade class watched the show, but the other guys could see the robots change into cars, planes, dinosaurs and even a handgun. I could only hear it. Thus, guys like Peter Cullen, Frank Welker, Chris Latta, Casey Kasem, Michael Bell, Don Messick, Dan Gilvezan and Corey Burton were the stars of the show to me.

Oh sure, I collected G.I. Joe toys as well. My love for them sprang up more in the summer of 1985. I had Cobra Commander, Duke, Quick Kick, The Baroness, Shipwreck, Flint, Ladyjaye, Zartan, Ripcord, Blowtorch, Airtight and all of the Dreadnoks. For Christmas of 1985, I got the Crimson Twins (Tomax and Xamot), as well as Perceptor and Redalert. I went through a love affair with the Joe toys for about nine months, but my affinity for The Transformers lasted for over two years.

Sidebar: My first stab at sex education came, not from the stupid, awkward lecture from the school principal and nurse, but from my futile efforts to place my Flint and Ladyjaye action figures in various positions that were meant to simulate copulation. It was a sorry effort that was also inspired by the cartoon series. If Bill Ratner or Mary McDonald-Lewis ever happen to stumble upon this blog, #SorryNotSorry.

My passionate romance with The Transformers officially ended at the premier of that accursed Transformers movie. The writers killed off Optimus Prime, along with most of the original toys that were scattered around my bedroom floor at home. I’ve heard tales of some kids crying in the theater. I didn’t cry. I was alternately mad and sad. As pathetic as it is to admit, Optimus Prime had been a major hero to me. He was a character that had unwavering morals, a strong sense of loyalty to his followers and a courageous mechanical heart. Sure, guys like Duke, Flint and Roadblock were American patriots, but Optimus Prime seemed to carry something larger with him. I can’t explain it, other than to say that he gave those of us lonely kids who felt empty something to look to when times got rough. Recess was full of physical and emotional bullies, but I took heart in knowing that Optimus Prime would be waiting for me when I got home, always ready to do the right thing. Sure, I took visceral pleasure in watching the Joe Team beat the crap out of those hapless Cobra troops, but Prime employed a measure of compassion toward the innocent. Decepticons were contemptuous and violent toward humanity, calling them names like, “Earth germs.” Prime always defended humanity, arguing that freedom was the right of all beings.

It seems strange to think that, of all the toys I collected, the Optimus Prime toy was not one that ever made it into my basket.

AND THOSE ASSHOLES KILLED HIM!!! They scrapped him and replaced him with freakin’ Judd Nelson, Robert Stack, Leonard Nimoy, the Micro Machines guy and… Orson Welles!? Citizen Kane as a planet-eating monster. What a way to go out. I can understand why Orson did it. He wasn’t getting a lot of other offers and he had to pay for his expensive wine habit, but why the hell would Leonard Nimoy take a voice role like that? He was doing just fine and Star Trek: The Great Whale Chase, was about three months from hitting the screens.

Anyway, I tried to keep up with the TV cartoon, more out of habit than anything, but Rodimus Prime and Galvatron were poor substitutes. Meanwhile, G.I. Joe brought Sergeant friggin’ Slaughter, a professional wrestler, on board to do battle with Serpentor. Cobra Commander was kind of a clownish terrorist, but he was fun and colorful. Serpentor, by contrast, was just boring. Think about it! Serpentor had the DNA of Vlad Tepes in his makeup, but he never got around to sticking Cobra Commander up on a pole.

In Christmas of 1986, I got Ultra Magnus and Kup. I also got the Cobra Night Raven. Galvatron was my last toy, given as my 12th birthday gift in February of 1987. I played with them for a time, but the magic was fading. By the summer of ’87, I was watching crime shows like The Equalizer, Mike Hammer and Simon and Simon. I had also been introduced to old-time radio and had quickly become a fan of The Shadow and The Green Hornet. The cartoons seldom got turned on and my toys were relegated to a plastic basket in my closet, eventually to be taken downstairs and stored somewhere in the basement. The surviving toys would come out again years later, when my little nephew Hunter discovered the same love of Star Wars and The Transformers that I’d had as a kid. Yeah… We’re getting too close to Toy Story territory here, so I’m gonna move on.

I think my parents had hoped that I would grow out of toy cartoons in the sixth grade as many of my peers were doing. Honestly, I didn’t fully turn my back on the show until early in the seventh grade when the whole Headmaster thing hit and I realized that reincarnated Optimus Prime had outlived his usefulness. My parents breathed a huge sigh of relief. Maybe I was gonna finally grow up and go out for wrestling and hit puberty. Their rest bit was short-lived, because about a year later, I discovered Star Trek on VHS, available for rental at Video Kingdom. Mom and Dad stood aghast at the fact that they had sired, not only a blind, chubby, reclusive middle kid, but a nerd as well.

I did, of course, buy the DVD’s of both the G.I. Joe and Transformers cartoons in the early 2,000’s. I humbly admit that it is my prerogative to break them out and sample them every now and again. They are hopelessly dated, of course, but I get a warm feeling when I watch them. You’re entitled to judge me if you want, and I’m entitled to tell you to kiss my fat Polish ass. I’ll tell you this… Optimus Prime and Megatron have aged a hell of a lot better than Hostess Cupcakes and Twinkies. There was a time when I couldn’t imagine one without the other.

I particularly admire the voice artistry of the actors I listed previously. Peter Cullen said it best when he spoke at some Comic Con panel or other. “The only way you can do a job like this is if you really, truly love it.”

It is interesting that, in hindsight, I find The Transformers to be more compelling than G.I. Joe. It’s also interesting that, of all the Christmas gifts I received during my childhood, the ones that stand out most in my memory are the Transformers toys, as well as the cassettes of old-time radio programs given to me by my grandparents at Christmas, 1987.

My final thought is that I find it odd that Transformers and G.I. Joe have gotten several major movies, while Masters of the Universe has not. Maybe the 1987 film with Dolph Lundgren did what Skeletor never could and killed He-Man, dead. Then again, if you look at how the modern Transformers movies turned out, maybe He-Man and Skeletor got the better end of the deal.

If only Cobra Commander had brainwashed Santa Claus, he would’ve had all of the kids saying, “Merry Chrisssssssssssssstmasssssssssssss!”

PS: If you guys aren’t able to read this blog in about two weeks or so, it’s because Steve Sawczyn, the guy who gets the bill, was a He-Man fan.

If Only My Cane Were a Spear

The following rant is dedicated to Ralph Ellison.

There are a lot of blind people who traffic in what I call, outrage porn. Those are the long, rambling Facebook posts from the likes of Sassy Outwater who, not only point
out some legitimate issues that might annoy us as blind people, but who love to wallow in their own sense of offense. It’s not even so much about what
they say, but the tone in which they say it; or write it, as the case may be. I might agree with some or most of their points, but I find the entitled sanctimony off-putting.

I try not to engage in this behavior. I don’t want to be another faux social justice warrior with thin skin, carrying my minority
status like a badge of honor, all the while acting as if it’s a cross. I’ve found that you can have far more of an impact if you educate with civility
and humor, rather than acting butt-hurt every time someone knocks on the door of the office bathroom while you’re taking a piss with the lights out.

That said, almost every blind person knows of a common set of behaviors by sighted people that vex us no end. One of them is a classic I call, the invisible
blind guy scenario. Yes, ladies, you can switch the gender if you wish.

If you carry a cane or use a dog, you’ve likely been there. It happens when you
are traveling with a sighted companion. You go into a restaurant, bank, store, etc, and the clerk or a passer-by will talk to your sighted buddy as if
you don’t exist. They may ask your companion what you’d like to eat, or ask them to sign for you, or carry on an entire conversation, all the while barely
acknowledging your presence. Everyone does it. No one is exempt. The only common denominator is sight. Men do it. Women do it. People of all races and
sexual orientations do it. Rightists do it. Leftists do it. They are the worst, because they think they’re above it after all kinds of sensitivity training and college education about intersectionality, but it goes right out the window when a blindie approaches.

Today at work, we hosted a videographer who came in and filmed various aspects of our workplace for some documentary or other. I have no idea of the nature of it. My boss brought her into the
control room, introduced me and continued to talk to her. I was in the middle of hurridly editing a file for a political candidate, so it was kind of time
sensitive. Perhaps I appeared busy, but the filmmaker said to my boss, “Can I get some shots of him editing?” She didn’t ask me. She asked my boss.

Over the years, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been the subject of various TV and newspaper puff pieces that were well-intentioned, but which actually
served no purpose, other than to ladle out a heavy dose of inspiration porn about the amazing blind kid/guy. Without exception, every photographer or cameraman
(or woman) talked to my parents, my teachers, my coworkers or some varient, while barely speaking to me at all. “Can he turn this way?” “Can he smile a
bit more?” “Let’s move him over here. This way. This way. That’s a good boy.”

Today, when the lady asked my boss about filming me, I wanted to say, “You
can talk to me, lady. It’s not 1950, we’re not in Alabama and I’m not the kitchen nigger.”

There are three reasons why I suppressed this comment:

1. I love my job.

2. I respect my boss.

3. We live in an increasingly reactionary world that now has little use for context. Megyn Kelly is a perfect example.
She just got railroaded out of NBC after making a racially insensitive comment; a comment for which she apologized. Twice.

No, I kept my thoughts to myself and decided to express them here. No outrage or sanctimony. If anything, I’m just weary of being treated like the invisible blind guy. I know why it’s
happening, of course, People are very tribal. If a sighted person sees another sighted person with a blind person, they will naturally respond more quickly
to the person with whom they have more in common. It’s similar to a person in a foreign country who will gravitate toward someone who speaks their own
language. It’s not so much about bigotry or insensitivity as it is about comfort. Like it or not, differences make us uncomfortable. This filmmaker is
probably a very nice lady who did not mean to be dismissive, but she has likely never encountered a blind person in her life. Should she be expected to
know exactly how to behave when she encounters a situation for which she’s never been prepared? I think not.

Just because I understand what’s going on, however, doesn’t mean I don’t get sick of it. In her memoir, Extraordinary, Ordinary People. Condoleezza Rice says, “I would rather be ignored than patronized.” I agree wholeheartedly with this sentiment. All things being equal though, I prefer neither option. I would just assume have a respectful dialogue.

Anyway, I need to actually get back to work before I get fired for slacking on the job, so I will close with this thought. All of you sighted folks, if you see a blind person with a sighted person, please don’t ignore us. Your courtesy is just as welcome for us as it is with anyone with whom you can make eye contact. And if you choose to engage with us, please talk to us as if we are human beings, not animals or overgrown children.

One last thought… I think Megyn Kelly’s firing is a blessing in disguise.

Cocksucka!!!

There are television shows that do not age well. As much as I was addicted at the time, 24 sadly falls into this category. The program, while a compelling thriller in its early years, adopted a plot-driven formula that hinged on the Hitchcockian ploy of, what happens next. Once you learn what happens next, it greatly reduces the rewatchability factor after you experience your first go-round. There is little emotional reward in watching Jack Bauer save David Palmer’s life when you have the foreknowledge that, three seasons later, David Palmer will be felled by an assassin’s bullet in the name of, just another plot twist. I will always hold a place of affection for the first season of 24, but seldom rewatch anything past it.

Then, there’s Deadwood, a contemporary of 24, as well as other HBO stable favorites such as The Sopranos, Sex and the City, The Wire and Six Feet Under. I rewatch it every couple of years and, contrary to the adventures of Jack Bauer and Chloe, Deadwood grows ever sweeter and more profound with the passage of time.

One year after my move to Omaha, I unwound the first episode of Deadwood on a lonely Friday night and was amazed to discover that I lost track of time as I viewed it. The profanity-drenched Shakespearian dialogue, the complex plot, the wonderfully-woven characters and the minimalistic music all blend together to form nothing less than a masterpiece.

On its face, Deadwood is a western. The first few episodes carry all of the trappings of classic westerns, including a hanging that is little more than a lynching under color of authority, gunfights, gold miners, and even real life western heroes in the form of Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane.

Yet, as you scratch beneath the top soil of this series, you discover that Deadwood is no more a western in the traditional sense than The Wire is a traditional cop show. This truth is brought home with a bang when Wild Bill Hickok (Keith Carradine) is murdered at the end of the fourth episode. Hickok belies the heroic image and is depicted here as a burned-out man who carries his celebrity status like a cross. Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert), long viewed through a historical lens as a tough-talking, quick-shooting female icon of the old west, is painted here as little more than a loud-mouth drunk with a streak of yellow; a loser who just happened to scout for General Custer.

So these two come to Deadwood, not first built as a town, but as merely a thriving, lawless camp in the Dakota Territory. With them come Seth Bullock (Timothy Olyphant), along with his partner, Sol Star (John Hawkes.) All they want to do is build a hardware store and make a modest living, but Bullock’s temper and his strong sense of morality propel him down a certain path until he becomes the local sheriff by the end of the first season. There’s the town medic, Doc Cochran (Brad Dourif), who’s irascible manner is matched only by the demons he collected on various battlefields of the Civil War. There’s Alma Garret (Molly Parker), a rich New York society woman who finds herself in Deadwood against her will at the behest of her doe-eyed, tenderfoot husband. There’s the slimy E. B. Farnum (William Sanderson), hotelier, grifter and spy for whomever has his price. There’s Ellsworth (Jim Beaver), a prospector down on his luck, but who’s affable nature makes him a universally beloved man throughout the camp. And there’s the Reverend Smith (Ray McKinnon), a preacher who brings religion to Deadwood, but who is doomed by a brain tumor.

At the center of it all sits Al Swearengen (Ian McShane), local crime boss, cut-throat and architect of everything shady that goes on in the region. Swearengen is a brutal but efficient criminal who operates out of the Gem Saloon, where he is quick to put a boot on the neck of any of his prostitutes if they get out of line, or cut the throat of any of his underlings should they cross him. His henchmen, Dan Dority (W. Earl Brown), Johnny Burns (Sean Bridgers), and later, Silas Adams (Titus Welliver), are bound to Swearengen by a mixture of fear, respect and loyalty. Even Trixie (Paula Malcomson), his preferred prostitute and sometime confidant is torn by her bondage to him as the series progresses.

The nature of Swearengen’s business makes him many enemies throughout the course of the series. Bullock is the most obvious. The two clash, both ethically and physically as their dealings continue. Al also has competition in the person of Cy Tolliver (Powers Boothe), a ruthless riverboat gambler who opens a larger, more expensive saloon right across the street from Al’s joint. Al also finds his power threatened after Hickok’s murder captures the attention of the territorial government in Yankton, embodied in a commissioner (Stephen Tobolowsky), who is the only man who surpasses Farnum in the unctuous department. And there are the non-human threats such as a plague of smallpox, which forces Al to realize that the camp can best defend itself against external threats if it comes together and forms a local government of its own.

The plague ushers in, not only a body count, but the reality that Deadwood is more than a collection of people brought together by their lust for gold. It is a budding community. If The Wire represents the death of a great city, Deadwood represents its antithesis in the formation of a small town. And here is why Deadwood differs from it’s postmodern contemporaries such as The Sopranos and Mad Men. While those shows are dark, gritty affairs tinged with existentialism, the main theme of Deadwood is growth. Many of the characters who come to Deadwood down on their luck find new strength in themselves as they see the town begin to take shape around them. The outward trappings of civilization begin to appear as evidenced by the formation of a town bank, a livery stable, a newspaper, a telegraph, a school for the children and even a local theater in the third season. Swearengen is the most blatant symbol of growth as he as he undergoes a gradual metamorphosis from a ruthless crime boss to the town’s unofficial mayor by series end.

This doesn’t mean that all characters transform themselves from bad to good people. Series creator David Milch is excellent at painting with shades of gray. Seth Bullock wears a sheriff’s badge and cloaks himself in rigid morality, yet he carries on a passionate affair with Alma Garret, even while his wife Martha (Anna Gunn) and young stepson are traveling to join him in Deadwood. Calamity Jane struggles with alcoholism in the wake of Wild Bill’s death. Doc Cochran, Alma Garret and Steve the town racist also struggle with addiction. Tolliver’s madam, Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens), tries to break free of her pimp, only to be driven into the arms of a serial killer (Garret Dillahunt) akin to Jack the Ripper, who has a taste for kinky sex and dead whores.

Deadwood was one of the flashpoints of the Gold Rush that typified life in the latter half of the West of the 19th Century. Naturally, it would draw a ragged assortment of criminals, drifters, drop-outs and honest people as its profile rose in America. And it was inevitable that it would also draw the attention of predatory capitalists. Such a figure arrives in the third season of the show in the form of George Hearst (Gerald McRaney), a greedy multi-millionaire who cares far more for gold than he does for human life. Yet, while he plods through the camp like a juggernaut, attempting to possess everything and everyone within his assumed domain, the town fights back, thereby strengthening their sense of community. Swearengen and Bullock are unlikely allies as they face a common enemy; a story that has played out time and again throughout the course of human history. Hearst is ultimately vanquished, but not in a manner that traditionalists who enjoy stories of the conflict between good and evil will find completely satisfying. The departure of Hearst from Deadwood proved to serve as the unexpected finale of the series as well, much to the consternation of the small but vocal group of fans.

The final episode of Deadwood aired in 2006. For years, HBO and David Milch pointed the long finger of blame at each other as to the reasons why Deadwood was suddenly fed to the pigs. To this day, no one can give a clear answer. The low ratings, even by HBO standards, certainly played a part. Small wonder. Deadwood is certainly not for everyone. The violence is often brutal. The plots are dense and sweeping. The language was often given as the reason why many people were put off by it. It is an irony that the dialogue is simultaneously guttural and elegant. Most of the characters spat out words like “fuck,” and “cunt” as casually as Kim Kardashian uses words such as “like,” and “umm.” “Cocksucker,” was often the centerpiece of many a deadwood drinking game on chat forums of which I was a participant. In short, Deadwood ain’t your grandpa’s western. Other reasons for the abrupt cancelation may have been a growing weariness of David Milch’s sometimes erratic shooting schedule on the part of HBO executives, or a lack of returns in the Emmy Awards department given the expensive nature of the show. At the time, Deadwood was the most expensive show being produced in American broadcast television.

Sidebar: Milch’s erratic production schedule was one of the reasons why he was removed as head writer of NYPD Blue. This was largely due to his fondness for heroin and gambling. In interviews, he claimed to have kicked the former habit by the time of the production of Deadwood, though he was more ambiguous about the latter.

Almost immediately after the announcement of Deadwood’s cancelation, there was talk of the cast and crew coming together once more to do a series of wrap-up movies, or a truncated fourth season… Or something. That was 12 years ago. Rumors have swirled on the internet, but after a series of false starts and empty hopes, nothing came of it. I gave up on the idea not long after I went to Denver, resigning myself to the notion of watching three seasons of epic television every one or two years.

Last July, I was sitting in the control room at work playing on Twitter when I came across a tweet from Deadwood sycophant, Alan Sepinwall. It said something like, “Can’t wait for W. Earl Brown to give us the inside scoop from the new Deadwood movie.” Google told me the rest. HBO had officially confirmed that, yes, Deadwood would indeed be filming a final movie to tie up loose ends. If things proceeded according to plan (and that’s always a big if where Milch is concerned), shooting was to commence two weeks ago. What a herculean effort it must’ve taken to bring all the surviving cast back together for one last hurrah! Or is that, huzzah!?

The only thing I know about the movie is that, of course, it will take place 12 years after the final episode of the regular series. There is no way they could’ve done otherwise. All of the cast members have aged, many of them with other trophies dangling from their belts. Timothy Olyphant starred in another western-style series, Justified; a show that is good, but not great. Titus Welliver has gone on to play Harry Bosch, Michael Connelly’s literary cop in an Amazon series. Ian McShane currently stars in American Gods. Molly Parker has a recurring role on House of Cards. Powers Boothe recurred on Nashville before his death in 2017. About half the cast had guest stints on Sons of Anarchy. Dayton Callie had a regular role on the show. And Anna Gunn (God bless her) played Skyler White on Breaking Bad.

Sidebar: The character I’m most curious about is Doc Cochran, who was suffering from tuberculosis in the third season. There is no way he could have survived another 12 years. Milch assures us that all of the regular cast will appear, except for Titus Welliver. The only way they can possibly incorporate Doc is through a flashback; a technique never previously employed on the series. We are also promised that Cy Tolliver’s absence will not go unnoticed. My fervent hope is that Joanie Stubbs is finally able to rise above her circumstances should Cy be dead.

However the movie turns out, I will be glad of a more fitting conclusion than that which we received in 2006. Whether or not the movie lives up to expectations, at least the wondering and waiting will soon be at an end.

Adendum: 10/23/18

I managed to locate W. Earl Brown’s Twitter feed. He confirms that, yes, the cast and crew are back together and in production. Deadwood the Movie is scheduled for a tentative Spring release. Of course, they are now on a two-week hiatus so that hoopalhead Milch can catch up, but it wouldn’t be Deadwood if things went off like clockwork.

Huzzah!

No! More! NABS!

The first time I attended a convention of the National Federation of the Blind of Nebraska was in 1993. I was in my fourth month of training at the orientation center of the state agency for the blind, known as the Nebraska Services For the Visually Impaired.

Sidebar: This blog entry is only one paragraph old and it’s already full of alphabet soup. NFBN and NSVI. Nice start.

Anyway, the agency offered to pay for my trip, so I went. I was less than impressed. My first impression of the NFBN was that it was full of older, cliquish people who had little use for outsiders. The sessions struck me as nothing but self-aggrandizing chest-thumping. No one in the affiliate seemed particularly warm or welcoming toward me. I don’t remember any outreach of any kind. My roommate was Scott Green (he goes by Mitch now), and we spent most of the weekend in our room watching Star Trek and listening to old-time radio. Our national representative that year was Diane McGeorge. Mitch and I listened to half of her banquet speech, got bored, left the banquet and ordered Pizza Hut back in the room.

My two best friends at the time were Shane and Amy Buresh. I barely saw them that weekend. They were scholarship winners that year and I think we briefly rubbed elbows at the scholarship reception. Shane mumbled something to me about starting a student division, but I brushed it off. I hadn’t yet started college and the thought was overwhelming to me, so the idea of a group of blind college students didn’t even register.

I left the convention that Sunday knowing that I had no use for the NFBN. When Della Johnston, the state president, approached me a few weeks later and asked me to take over the NFBN’s weekly radio show on KZUM, I jumped at the chance. This was it! My big break in radio had finally come!!!

I was far more excited about it than were the members of the Lincoln Chapter of the NFBN. I went to their January meeting so I could get to know them better. Barbara Walker was particularly unimpressed with me. The feeling was mutual. To me, she came off as a stuck-up, pretentious old blind biddy who looked down her nose at those who didn’t drink the NFB Kool-Aid. At one point I said to the group, “I agree with some of the stuff you guys think and I will probably join at some point.” Barbara’s retort was immediate and succinct. “Why not now?”

Barbara’s answer came about two months later, when I hijacked the NFBN Pioneers radio program on KZUM and made it my own. I called it, “In a Different Light.” No more NFB propaganda. I was going to focus on the disability community at large. Sure, the NFB could come and talk if they wanted, but so could the ACB. So could the League of Human Dignity. So could Mitch Green, advertising his newly-formed company, Alternative Technologies. As long as it was disability related, it was fair game.

The program lasted another three months before I went home from college for the May break. When I came back for summer session, I simply let the show go. I can only imagine the tongue lashing that Barbara and others gave Della over her serious miscalculation.

Yet, history seems to vindicate Della. She dug the hole in the NFB garden by forging a personal relationship with me and allowing me to fulfill one of my dreams. Still, it was Shane and Amy who planted the seed. I think it was February of 1995 when Shane invited me to attend a meeting of the Nebraska Association of Blind Students at Peru State College. The preceding October, Amy had been elected president at the state convention. We made a weekend out of it, complete with trips to the Dairy Freeze in Steve’s Bowling Alley in Auburn. The meeting itself was attended by the three of us, plus their weird pal, Chuck, who also served as our driver. Mass transit has not yet come to Southeastern Nebraska.

I’d like to tell a grand, emotional tale of how Amy decided to pass the torch to me in 1996. Honestly, I can’t remember her talking to me about it. I don’t remember agreeing to accept the job. I merely remember Amy stepping down as NABS president due to the fact that she was going to graduate the following May. She passed me the baton, I got up and said something like, “Thank you, all. I hope I can be half the president that Amy has been.”

My memories of my one term as president of NABS are mostly happy ones. I recall meetings in the basement of Selleck Hall on the UNL campus where a small group of us planned fundraisers. They culminated in the selling of candy bars, which was always a big hit with college students. I also remember our participation in career fares in partnership with the state agency. We did guest panels, mock game shows and trivia contests, social mixers where food and innocent card games were present, and picnics in the park.

But my fondest memory came at the state convention in 1998, at which we held a joint convention with the Iowa affiliate. Just after I stepped down as NABS president, I offered to shave my head bald, auctioning off each stroke of the razor for one dollar per shaver. All proceeds, of course, went to the NABS treasury. It was a big hit and I looked ravishing with no hair.

I left the presidency because I had dropped out of college, but my participation and support of NABS did not end. A year after I stepped down, Mike Hansen took over as president. NABS continued to partner with NSVI, soon to be rebranded as the Nebraska Commission for the Blind and Visually Impaired, for student and career fares. We continued to fundraise and, most important of all, we continued to spread the positive message about blindness to college students throughout the state.

My memory of the chain of successive NABS presidents after the turn of the century has faded somewhat, but I do know that Ryan Strunk eventually became the president. Involved with him were Jamie, Wes, Amy 2.0 and eventually, Randi. All of them went on to achieve bigger leadership roles in the state and/or national movements. Eventually, Karen became the president. Although she validates some of the negative stereotypes about elitism in Federation leadership, she did in fact become active on the national stage as well. As of this writing, both Karen and Amy 2.0 are working for the national office. Other NABS members of later generations included Kayde, Kelly, Stephanie and Bridgit. I have to believe that their exposure to NABS helped mold them into the leaders that they are today.

I moved to Colorado in 2007. I had very little interaction with the Colorado student division while I was there. My feeling was that, while I am supportive of student divisions, there comes a point when the more seasoned adults should move on and let the college students run their own show. This doesn’t mean pot brownies at the CABS parties, but only that those of us who moved on past college should let them make their own mistakes and celebrate their own failures with support and feedback available only upon request. When I moved back here to Nebraska, my plan was to do the same with NABS. Just let them do their thing and contribute to their treasury at every state convention when NABS snacks were being sold at the back of the convention room.

I was heading back from a board meeting with Bridgit a few weeks ago and we were discussing the current state of our affiliate. I don’t remember what lead to it, but Bridgit casually said, “Yeah…and NABS is gone.”

It hit me like a baseball bat in the stones. NABS was gone. NABS was gone. I sat there, not knowing if we were heading to Omaha or South Dakota, and felt completely stunned. NABS, my path toward taking the NFB seriously. NABS, where we spent so many late nights planning how to engage the students at a Round Tuit seminar. NABS, where then President Amy Buresh held regular agenda items called, “Cathartic conversations,” in which we discussed how to help more people become aware of the Federation. NABS, where I learned how to get up the courage to approach a stranger and ask them if they wanted to buy a candy bar for the cause. NABS, where President Ryan Strunk conducted a meeting in a stage whisper because he’d claimed to have lost his voice. Miraculously, it came back later that night at my place when it came time for him to play his guitar. NABS, where I helped the kids load coolers full of water and pop, along with boxes of sandwiches, chips and candy on to a bus headed for a state convention. NABS, where I sat in a chair while locks of my hair fell to the floor as various people clumsily shoved an electric razor against my head. NABS. Gone.

I sit here late at night, the cicadas angrily buzzing in the trees right outside my balcony door, and I ask myself, what the bloody hell happened? NABS was our most important endeavor. That was our best hope of training future generations of leaders to take up the torch and carry it when we moved on. Oh sure, you have national leadership seminars with high-minded philosophical questions and the separating of the wheat from the chaff, but nothing takes the place of the forming of the bond between the local leaders and the students that look to them on a regular basis for guidance and encouragement.

Is this how Woodrow Call felt when he went back to Lonesome Dove, only to discover that the ranch house was rat infested and the town saloon had burned down? He walked the streets of the deserted town and began to question his sanity when he thought he envisioned the one-legged ghost of Gus McCrae coming toward him. “Why, Gus?” he asked. He was really asking, what was the point? What did their 3,000-mile cattle drive really mean?

Why? Why? I sit here and ask myself that question in my head, and the tone I’m hearing is a mixture of befuddlement and deep, wistful melancholy. NABS is gone. NABS is gone. The “Why?” is followed by other questions. Where did it go? How did it happen? Can we ever revive it? Is this a sign of a larger trend as many seem to think, or does it represent failure of another kind? I don’t know. I wasn’t here for the last decade. I don’t know where the blame lies, or if any blame exists at all. I only know that, if we of the Federation cannot pass the torch on to future leaders in this state, we are doomed to the dusty corner of the memories of those who lived through the glory times. And all of those people who lived will eventually die, their memories, nothing but ghosts.

Conservative Concepts: The Nature of Human Nature

I referenced “A Conflict of Visions,” by Thomas Sowell in my last entry. It serves as the perfect Segway to address another conservative concept that I’ve been pondering for a while now. It is the essence of human nature itself and how it is viewed through different ideological lenses.

“A Conflict of Visions,” is a dense and dry read, but a worthwhile one if you can manage it. It speaks to the question that so many idealists love to pose at parties and in groups when they want to act as if they are above the fray of political strife. Why can’t we all just get along? If people would just drop the political partisanship and pull together, we would all be so much better off. Cue John Lennon’s “Imagine.”

Sowell addresses that question with an answer that is bitter medicine to swallow, but valid none the less. People can’t all come together because human nature defies this reality on every level. As humans, we have irreconcilable differences that are simply incompatible in the arena of governance.

Let’s look at it through the prism of pop culture, using two of my favorite television shows as reference points.

On one end of the spectrum, you have Star Trek. This represents a liberal/progressive worldview. In this reality, humanity has risen above itself and has all come together as one. All of the evils of mankind have been eradicated; poverty, racism, sexism, greed, war, Lady Gaga, etc. Humans have perfected themselves to the point that they don’t even need money to survive. The thing that gives them the greatest joy is to explore space and seek out new life and new civilizations. Sowell would have referred to this worldview as, the unconstrained vision.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, you have The Sopranos. In this universe, every single person is greedy, corrupt, gluttonous, adulterous, selfish, vain and often, murderous. Everyone is on the take and therefore is subject to the worst instincts of humanity. Of course, David Chase needs to sell this particular worldview convincingly, so he uses the mafia as its vehicle. But in this world, even the civilians who are not a part of a criminal organization are slaves to the lower elements in the human soul. Mr. Sowell would have labeled this worldview as, the constrained vision.

So, there we have it. In the unconstrained worldview, humans can be bettered to the point of near perfection. The best way to help them to achieve this state of near grace is to implement a one-world government. This government would see to the needs of the people, solving all of their problems through food, healthcare, jobs and education. If humans could merely overcome their impulses toward greed, violence and selfishness, they can be made to realize that community is the most important organism for positive change.

In the constrained worldview, humans collectively tend toward the bad. Individually, they can choose to act in a benevolent fashion, but there is no greater good that satisfies all. Once one or two people fold into a larger group, the varying interests of various tribes begin to compete. Therefore, government must set down a series of laws that will prevent the larger group from breaking down into anarchy. Yet, the constrained vision dictates that a government is made up of the same collective of humanity that is itself collectively governed by those same lower impulses that drive the populous. It is therefore necessary to set such laws that will allow for individualism to flourish, while keeping the powers of a central government present, but in check.

This conflict of visions is at the heart of the irreconcilable differences that have driven competing agendas for centuries. What is the role of government in society? Those who adopt Sowell’s constrained vision view the government in a limited capacity, generally seeing to matters of national security and legal enforcement, while leaving most other matters to the local governments that are closer to their specific communities. Those who subscribe to the unconstrained vision attribute more power to a central government, including financial equity, healthcare, education and so-called social justice.

The inherent problem with the unconstrained view is that, while it remains popular in many circles due to it’s emotional attractiveness, human history clearly falls upon the side of the constrained vision. For centuries, mankind has collectively tended toward greed, war, corruption and the subjugation of its fellow man. This is why Gene Roddenberry set Star Trek 300 years in the future. In his view, mankind could only conquer its own demons through the use of technology.

The original Star Trek series came to be 52 years ago and technology has advanced by leaps and bounds since the days of the black-and-white tube television. Yet, most evidence seems to indicate that the constrained vision once again holds sway. Even though we now live in a digital age when messages can be transmitted instantaneously, when medical equipment is at its greatest advancement, when food production is at a historic peak and when computers play a greater role in the classroom than they ever have, our world seems to be de-evolving into various factions with more and more rapidity with each passing year.

If you don’t care for my use of pop culture to illustrate my point, how about two historical examples; The American Revolution versus the French Revolution.

On the surface, the two revolutions appear similar. The Americans took up arms against an oppressive government because they were weary of being taxed without having a voice in a government that existed over 3,000 miles away from the colonies. The French Revolution occurred because the general populous was weary of being ruled by a monarch and the Catholic Church.

But there, the similarities end.

The French wanted (and ultimately got) their king’s head on a platter. The Americans merely wanted their king to leave them alone. The French rejected religion in all forms, while the Americans incorporated aspects of it into their founding doctrines, while making it clear that the church could not rule the nation. The French Revolution began in anarchy and was restored to order by a constitutional monarchy, which quickly collapsed and was followed by a reign of terror, a democratic republic, civil wars, internal revolts and ultimately, a military dictatorship under Napoleon. The American Revolution was fought by two traditional armies until England surrendered. It was followed by the implementation of a constitution and the formation of a representative republican government overseen by a duly elected president that has stood the test of time, even in the face of the American Civil War. The American Revolution succeeded because, once it ended, the Founding Fathers set down concrete principles of law in the Constitution for guidance. The French Revolution ultimately failed because it relied on sweeping generalities and abstractions as philosophical fuel.

How does this conflict of visions translate in today’s world? Although humans are very complicated, nuanced creatures, the modern manifestation of Sowell’s conflicting visions can be found on the left and the right in the western world. The unconstrained vision is most closely mirrored by Communism, while the constrained vision can be most closely identified with capitalism.

Both systems certainly have their good and bad points, but those who hold the unconstrained vision believe that a centralized government is best able to determine and see to the needs of its people. It is a matter of efficiency. A government can more effectively distribute wealth, prescribe medical care, feed its population and defend its borders by claiming title to and seizing the property of its labor force, which is the people whom it purports to serve. Yet, history indicates that governments who operate within this framework too often become wielders of absolute power, with the coercive imposition of idolatry for itself upon its citizenry.

Those who hold with the constrained vision believe that Communism has illustrated time and again throughout history why humanity collectively tends toward the bad. Communist revolutions from Russia to Cuba to China have always begun with noble intent, but have ultimately resulted in oppressive and totalitarian regimes lording the whip over the masses.

Capitalism, on the other hand, has been the rising tide that has lifted all boats. But while the boats are elevated by natural forces, it is up to each individual pilot whether they will sink or float. Although greed does crop up in capitalist systems, it also provides an environment in which individuals can most easily flourish and thrive upon their own achievements. Those who espouse the constrained vision acknowledge that humans tend toward greed and self-interest. It is far easier to care about your own self and the welfare of your family, rather than strangers. Capitalism, by its very nature, allows people to place their self-interests first. However, when a certain percentage of people begin to succeed and become wealthy, their own sense of self-interest infects those around them through free market commerce. Compulsory government intervention and confiscation is not necessary when an individual’s natural desire for food, shelter and employment will spur him or her on to either employment, or innovation, or possibly both. America is the most obvious example, though other western countries who have followed the capitalist model have met with success.

Sidebar: For a more thorough study of how capitalism has benefitted western civilization, read Jonah Goldberg’s recent book, “Suicide of the West.”

Readers seeking to poke holes in the constrained vs. unconstrained visions might point to the rise of Donald Trump as an argument that conservatism does not, in fact, champion the ideals of individual liberty. Yet, as I have tried to illustrate in these hallowed pages, Trump is not a conservative and his loyal supporters are not subscribers to modern conservatism. Trump represents populism, which is in itself a form of collectivism that exemplifies the constrained theory at its lowest form. While Trump’s adopted party now enjoys dominance in the American political arena, the pendulum will someday swing and, if so-called Democratic Socialists gain a foothold under a figure more compelling and articulate than Bernie Sanders, they too will swoon to the siren song of populism. Barack Obama served as a foreshadowing to what is to come, but more extreme times lie ahead for the American left.

I should point out that America does not represent capitalism in its absolute pure form. The government does regulate our economy to a degree; regulations that tend to fluctuate depending upon the party in power. Yet, the over-arching force that has shaped and continues to shape our country is capitalism. We are certainly not perfect, but our experiment in the cohabitation of government and the free market has largely been a success by any measure.

How do I view human nature? I think the Christian view comes closest to my thinking. We are all sinners living in a fallen world. If humanity is to receive any measure of salvation, it cannot come through human means, whether it be money or governmental force. It must come from a higher, more ethereal power, which is less tangible than anything that mortal hands can touch and mortal logic can comprehend. It must come from God. Sadly, most humans like myself are too constrained by our own limitations to fully grasp this very basic truth.