"Harding’s 1920 campaign is particularly instructive in this regard. After twenty years of progressive appeals for civic-mindedness and sermons on the need for personal commitment to public change, Americans wanted a respite from political crusades. Wilson’s inability to turn the sacrifices of the Great War into a democratic, peaceful world confirmed the country’s desire to put private concerns above public activism. Given that climate all Harding had to do, one Republican strategist advised, was to stay on his front porch in Ohio and preach, "Americanism." Asked what the word meant, one party boss declared: "Damned if I know, but it’s going to get a lot of votes." Keep Warren at home, another Republican leader counseled: "If he goes out on the hustings, he’s the sort of damned fool who will try to answer questions."
Seems like its time for a cheesy, annoying post that no one will give a shit about (nor should they)
Every time I go home it’s kind of a little surreal.
It might also have something to do with the fact that I have a horrible time remembering things. BIG things.
Like, I spent damn near 10 years of my life getting up from that bed to go to that high school and do whatever the hell it is I did or rather, didn’t do. But it feels all too long ago (literally like a decade) so I barely connect with it and on top of that, I barely even recall a large majority of those memories.
So its weird to see these symbolic representations of a huge chunk of my life and have it just sort of congregate into this blurry remembrance of scattered memories pieced together that don’t really make all that much sense.
But back to the things I didn’t do.
I grew up in the most typical southern Californian suburb. Nothing happens. Kids get food, get high, and go to the beach. Thats. About. It.
And everyone there sort of simultaneously holds pride and hatred for the sheer dullness of the place. Because sure, it meant a lot of days of sitting around and doing nothing (especially if you were a straightedge AKA me), but other times it led to a few kids walking around empty streets at four in the morning covering a span of topics ranging from what they wanted to do with their lives to relationships to dick jokes. Or in the case of last night, 4 grown men (and by that I mean 21 year olds supported by their parents) to turn their garage into a game room with two TVs two Playstation 2’s, Pictionary, and a near endless supply of booze and other substances that shall not be named.
Its a very absurd place. And everyone kind of wants to get out because those who don’t, get stuck…but they never quite want to completely leave it.
So thats where the cheesyness comes in.
I’m starting my last quarter at Seattle U and planning on staying in Seattle after I graduate. I’m most likely not going to be able to come back to San Diego as much as I used to. And even if I can, its kind of just a psychological disconnect. Like, I am going to have to be a fucking adult. And that was the last time seeing my old bedroom as the young little bitch that I am.
Like you know that feeling when you see your home bedroom the first time you come back from being away for college and it feels just the same as when you left it and yet somehow entirely different? And each time you come back home it gets progressively even more different?
It’s like that, but to a strange other level…because I feel like I’m completely leaving it.
"There can be no substantive progressive politics beyond the extension of American liberalism without social motion or movements. And despite the symbolic and cathartic electoral victories of liberal women and people of color, all remain thoroughly shackled by corporate priorities in the economy and in debt-ridden administrations. Under such conditions, the plight of the ill-fed, ill-clad, and ill-housed tends to get worse."
Excuse me, just falling in love with Cornell West over here.
“When NASA first started sending up astronauts they quickly discovered that ball-point pens would not work in zero gravity. To combat the problem, NASA scientists spent a decade and $12 Billion to develop a pen that writes in zero gravity, upside down, underwater, on almost any surface including glass and at temperatures ranging from below freezing to 300 C. The Russians used a pencil.”—I hope to God this is not true, but it really wouldn’t surprise me if it was.
And be sure to blast them until the only other thing you can hear are the planes that fly above your neighborhood so damn often.
Feel the wind against your face and take everything in.
The good and the bad.
And if you happen to run into someone you know, then push it out. Fake a smile. Not necessarily because you’re sad (although that may be the case), but just because you’re not there right now. You’re here.
If it makes it easier, look down at your feet. And let your mind go off on tangents like:
"It’s funny how after all these years, I’m still that nervous boy who looks down at his feet because it’s safe."
And how its even stranger to have seen the ground get farther and farther away as each year went by. Because now you look down at most people even though you still feel like you should be looking up.
Then you look up from your feet and wonder if every other person looking down feels like they should be looking up.
“What do we want?! BIG PENIS. When do we want it?! NOW!”—A drunk girl chanting at the top of her lungs at Rancho Bravo at 3AM according to my roommates. She also proceeded to yell, “Who here has a big penis?!” and everyone at Rancho Bravo raised their hands.