Category: Blog Post

  • Country, and Republicans, First

    It was Day 2 of the Republican National Convention and The Rake
    was seated proudly in the "minor local media" section. With CityPages at
    our side, God as our witness and no actual view of the stage, the event was underway. It was quickly apparent that, in solidarity with the folks
    displaced by Hurricane Gustav, the Republicans had blown their announced agenda
    to hell and back, with only two of the originally planned speakers on tap for
    the night. The abbreviated convention also blew a sucking chest wound in the
    plans to highlight a different theme each night – forcing the party planners to
    focus instead on the Convention’s overall theme of "Country First." They
    proceeded to offer up that happily vague phrase, and variations thereof, ad
    nauseum.

    Starting off the night to set the "Country First" tone was John Boehner’s speech on the Great
    Satan that is the Democratic party, conveniently neglecting to mention that the
    pluperfect singularity of economic, diplomatic and social upheaval facing the
    country was engendered just as much by Republican as it was Democrat. Of
    course, much like at last week’s DNC, the delegations thoroughly enjoyed any
    and all mocking of the opposition, offering raucous applause and never once
    wishing they could hear a proper
    taunting as only the French can provide
    .

    After Boehner’s speech, the epic notes of "Don’t Stop Believin’" by
    glam rock legends Journey filled the dead air and, as McCain’s theme song, was
    likely intended to fire up delegates and remind them that a year ago their
    presidential nominee’s campaign was dead in the water and beaten by Giuliani in
    the polls like a bad bad donkey. But judging by the choked off laughter, the
    assembled media took it as a reminder to the delegation to keep on drinking the
    Kool-Aid.

    Further compounding attempts to take the proceedings
    seriously was a short montage that truly set the tone for a night consisting of
    speeches by the Democrat who wasn’t, Joe Lieberman, and the only Minnesotan to ever
    hump the leg of a commander-in-chief
    – Michelle Bachmann. Perhaps history
    will someday regard the ill-considered words announced with gravitas against
    the backdrop of a stylized Constitution as something other than a phrase taking
    us to a horrific place – "You can’t really see your country. You can’t really
    touch your country. But you can love it." However, it’s all too likely the
    robots will have assumed primacy by then, consigning us to the dark corners of
    the earth, too busy scraping for sustenance to remember the disturbing imagery
    called forth by a gathering of the old world order. And besides, there are far
    too many places in the country that would likely require a visit to Planned
    Parenthood for testing if one was touched by them.

    Sen. Norm Coleman, former mayor of St. Paul, was prevented from making his
    "really good speech" on Monday and took the opportunity to welcome the
    delegates to Pig’s Eye, confusing the hell out of the octogenarian attendees.
    He went on to give a treatise on St. Paul’s history, discussing how
    conservative values built the Xcel center, but stopping just short of launching
    into a heartfelt rendition of Starship’s, "We Built This City".
    Coleman is, of course, in a rather heated battle for one of Minnesota’s Senate seats, so grandstanding
    is to be expected. He also was the first of a long parade of speakers to wax
    rhapsodic about the many sterling qualities of John McCain, culminating in a
    story about Thomas Jefferson’s face and a vagrant on the banks of a river.
    Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t actually a euphemism for oral sex, but rather a long winded and folksy way of saying McCain would face any challenge put in front of him.

    Unfortunately, the "positive spirit of Pig’s Eye" only
    extended to those blessed with the wisdom to join the Republican party. When
    speakers weren’t praying or touting the many wonders of the McCain and Palin
    story, they were blaming the opposition for everything from the national
    deficit to Lindsay Lohan’s recent forays into girl on girl action and punditry.
    Though given how much sense she makes in her political commentary, maybe Ms.
    Lohan is on to something.

    Throughout the rest of the night, speakers took every
    opportunity to point out how John McCain has put country first. That
    conservative values are the only possible way forward for this country. That,
    by the way, John McCain was once a resident at the Hanoi Hilton, and that it’s
    okay for conservatives to love him now that he’s the only option for a Republican
    president. Michelle Bachmann, the insane light of zealotry burning brightly in
    her eyes and clad in a dress that could only be described as Cadbury Mini-Egg
    yellow, delivered her speech as if she thought she was addressing a romper room
    audience. She devoted most of her time on stage to serving as a GOP attack dog,
    telling the arena that good Christian values will guide the country, not the
    government. Sadly, any good points she
    may have made on the importance of avoiding a nanny-state paled in comparison
    to her painful pleas for delegates to come back and visit. "Because we’re nice.
    Really nice. Fucking. Unbelievably. Nice. We’re nice, goddamnit! Why won’t you
    love me?"

    Tellingly, none of the MN delegates would discuss their
    feelings about Rep. Bachmann when asked.

    From then until the keynote speakers for the night – President
    George Bush, Sen. Fred Thompson and Sen. Joe Lieberman – were ready to go, a
    parade of heart wrenching tales and presidential retrospectives rained forth
    from the sound system. The obligatory deification of Ronald Reagan, tales of
    Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders, a crass attempt at co-opting the story of
    a Navy SEAL who threw himself on a grenade to save the rest of his team in Iraq
    and was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor – these were the most offensive
    moments of the night. Country First may be the theme of the convention, but
    when politics trump the country’s history and American heroes are used to
    strengthen a political agenda, it’s obvious the country isn’t foremost in
    anyone’s thoughts.

    Oh, and by the way, has anyone ever told you that John
    McCain was a POW?

    Following these crass examples of political opportunism, our
    fearless leader made an appearance via satellite, emphasizing the disagreements
    he’s had through the years with John McCain, conveniently neglecting to mention
    the smear campaign in 2000 that left the esteemed maverick senator from Arizona feeling like so
    much roadkill. Roadkill with an illegitimate
    black baby
    .

    Fred Thompson was up next, his experience as an actor
    shining through as he flowed easily from jowl-shaking recrimination against
    liberals and their media lapdogs to holding Sen. McCain aloft on a pedestal and
    thanking him for not only serving his country, but also for forgiving the sins
    of man, starring in a Tony-award winning Broadway musical that convinced
    homosexuals that they didn’t have the right to marry after all, and was the man
    who gave the reverse
    cowgirl
    to the world. The
    former New York prosecutor
    owned that crowd. Not only were his words treated
    as if they were carved in stone and handed down by Moses, but whispers of "He’s
    not so cute, but I’d totally do him" drifted down like so much J.Lo-branded
    perfume from the assembled group of MILFs and Stepford Wives in the gallery
    behind the press stand.

    Which made it all the more sad that Sen. Joe Lieberman had
    to follow that act. Not only did it seem as if the Xcel Center had suddenly
    been transported into an alternate dimension in which Lieberman wasn’t the VP
    nominee for one of the Republican party’s
    ultimate evils
    back in 2000, the senator from CT has never displayed a
    knack for oratory, and being the only Democrat on the speaking agenda brought
    him nothing but wary stares and baffled looks as he proceeded to name check
    Clinton and not curse Obama’s name to the heavens while lavishing praise upon
    his good friend John McCain. Sen. McCain certainly wouldn’t think of providing Sen. Lieberman with
    a cabinet position, thus providing a method to his madness, right?

    And throughout the show, while speaker after speaker
    thundered and railed against "the angry left" and positioned the GOP ticket as
    the second coming of Buddha, Christ, and P.T. Barnum in one neat little package
    with a moose-hunting cherry on top, they failed to note one interesting fact –
    they somehow managed to take the Xcel Energy Center, a nearly brand new arena
    with some of the best acoustics in the nation, and make it sound stunningly
    crappy. If that’s not an intriguing metaphor for the events of the last eight
    years, I’m not sure what is.

  • Protest Music for the New Millenium

    (Todd Smith already wrote this article)

    On stage, Steve Earle led the crowd in a sing-a-long of "Steve’s Hammer (for Pete)" – a song that picks up on that parenthetical Pete (Seeger)’s "If I Had a Hammer," from 1949.

    "I’m gonna say a line, and you’re gonna repeat it back to me," Earle said. "And none of the just-mouthin’-the-words stuff. I grew up in a Methodist church, and I know all about that shit."

    The audience, in attendance for the 1st Annual Take Back Labor Day Festival at Harriet Island, acquiesced to Earle’s demands. Hippies and hipsters, whole families and lone children, organizers in support of workers’ rights and apolitical groupies who came just to see their favorite bands – everyone yelled the musician’s lyrics back at him. Though there were fourteen-year-olds in the front row who’ve probably never even had a job yet, everyone was eager to add their own energy to the day’s momentum.

    Later, just across the Mississippi River, more than 280 protestors would be arrested for varying degrees of felonies, and a faint stench of tear gas would linger in the city’s grass. There would be a bomb threat on the Roberts Street Bridge. A man in the center of downtown St. Paul’s labyrinth-like riot gates would stand in a spotlight, preaching salvation, though no one would listen. Hidden speakers would blare "Danger Zone" throughout the metropolis.

    Now, though, at the concert, people sat cross-legged in the sun, and others kicked around a hackey-sack, and Steve Earle alternately played songs and lamented Woody Guthrie’s absence.

    The quietest presences were those backstage. During Earle’s set, a number of Iraq Veterans Against the War milled about, partaking of the festival’s various fried foods and texting friends on their cell phones. Some listened to the music, but none sang along. Certainly they seemed to be enjoying themselves, but they were distanced somehow from the celebration.

    "We came as part of a group of veterans to the DNC and RNC, to address issues affecting vets," said Eddie Falcon, who served four tours – two in Iraq, two in Afghanistan – as well as helping out in post-Katrina New Orleans. He was dressed in a black tank top, silver dog tags hanging loosely over the cloth. "We want all occupying forces out of Iraq and Afghanistan – you know, just, ‘troops home now’ – and we want full benefits for veterans. There are a lot of things that happen back home: PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), suicide, depression, alcoholism…and a lot of veterans aren’t getting the help they need."

    It’s strange and disturbing to think that of all the people gathered under the aegis of Taking Back Labor Day, the people enlisted by our government to protect our country are some of the most mistreated by their employers.

    In about forty-five minutes, when Tom Morello would be finishing his set with a rendition of Woody Guthrie’s "This Land is Your Land" (subversive lyrics reinstated), Falcon and his twenty or so peers on stage would pump their fists during the chorus and jump like they were listening to Kris Kross. Backstage, though, they were subdued, maybe accustomed to explaining their difficult positions to the media. Low-key as they seemed, though, they were very aware that they were under threat of arrest.

    Last week at the DNC in Denver, the group – then reportedly comprised of more than sixty vets – enacted Operation First Casualty, which, Falcon explained, was a piece of guerrilla-style theater.

    "With that we were bringing the war home," he said. "We dressed in our full fatigues, and had planted allies throughout the city, and we would detain them, handcuffing them and masking them in the middle of the crowd, to simulate what happens every day in Iraq."

    Then a group of veterans composed a letter listing demands they wanted to present to Obama’s campaign. They marched, Morello explained during his set, through the streets of Denver, and as they got closer and closer to the convention’s headquarters, a group of policemen in full riot gear began to block their path.

    That’s the absurd thing, isn’t it? That war veterans could get arrested during what really was a peaceful, even pacifist event – back home in the U.S.

    But the vets were undeterred. Eventually their letter was delivered and, Morello said, the dialogue with the Democratic Party will continue.
    In St. Paul the vets drafted a similar missive for the McCain camp. "Our First Sergeant got an escort through St. Paul to see McCain and bring him the letter," Falcon said. "But McCain declined to come out."

    During the latter half of the show, when the music shifted from Steve Earle-style folk rock to rap, the veterans began congregating on the wings of the stage. They danced along to Atmosphere, Mos Def, and The Pharcyde. The terms ‘PTSD’ and depression resounded in the mind – diseases that by definition set one apart form larger society. The vets had backstage passes, were touring with the musicians, and jamming on the set, but one wonders when, if ever, they’ll be able to re-join the larger crowd.

  • There's More Than One Bristol

    So, one of my fellow bloggers called my keen political insights "garbage" and asked me to go back to writing about cars.

    I will gladly fulfill your wish. In fact, how about if I write about both?

    I will even perfume my words to make sure the wind that passes when I write about politics will not offend your hope and passion for change.

    (Trying my hand here at Obama-speak. Such crap, I know.)

    (The other Bristol? courtesy of Perez Hilton and the Cap’n)

    No, here’s the deal-e-oh-my-god. As any car guy knows, there is a great British firm that has remained in business for a half-century by the Burgermeisterish name of "Bristol."

    They got their start when they acquired the tooling for the very fine BMW 328 as a WWII war reparation and constructed their first car–the Bristol 400 in the 1947.

    This proud old firm was very hot in the automotive world last year when they claimed to have turned their current Supercar–the extremely expensive and akward-looking Bristol fighter into the fastest front-engined production car in the world (Jalopnik says 1000 plus HP).

    I am about as certain they have accomplished this as I am that Ms. Palin the Sexy Librarian (in look) will last till Thursday.*

    Its a fast moving story, still.

    And this one really doesn’t stink.

    * 11:00 PM Wednesday Night. Well, well, I am wrong again. Sexy Librarian makes me look stupider than ever. She is is going to stay. Hockey Moms, however, are still no match for Ski Moms–check out this incredible true blog.

  • Logging Those Frequent Diner Miles

    What’s next, green stamps? With the cost of food and dining
    going up, and the economy going down, restaurants are scrambling to find new
    ways of keeping diners coming in the doors. Both Parasole, Inc. and the Twin
    Cities Originals
    have recently introduced customer loyalty programs that use
    member cards to track purchases and reward customers. With the Twin Cities
    Originals reward card, you get a point for every dollar you spend at a
    participating restaurant, and once you reach 150 points you get a $10 credit.

    Over 30 independently owned restaurants are in the Twin
    Cities Originals, ranging from the Dakota, Saffron and Murray’s to Vescio’s
    Cucina, The Herkimer and Broder’s Pasta Bar. For a complete list of TCO
    restaurants, click here. The TCO rewards card is also good at participating
    restaurants in other cities, including Kansas City, St. Louis, Tucson, and
    Birmingham – see www.PowerCard.com for
    details.

    The Parasole Club program adds another wrinkle: if you spend
    $1,000 to $2499 per year, you get 1.25 points per dollar, and if you spend
    $2500 or more, you get 1.5 points. The Parasole chain includes Manny’s Steakhouse, The Living Room and Prohibition Bar
    (all in the Foshay Hotel), Chino Latino, Figlio, Salut Bar Americain,
    Muffuletta, Pittsburgh Blue Steakhouse, and the Good Earth.

    Twin Cities
    Originals has another money-saving offer: gift certificates for 30 percent off, available for purchase on the PowerCard site. Only a limited number of certificates are available each quarter, and right now most of them are sold out, but a few are still available for The Herkimer, Great Waters and Birch’s.

     

  • Downtown Militarized Zone

    Photos by India Bell

    Hard to believe that as recently as Sunday, downtown Saint
    Paul was a bucolic paradise ringed in chain link, the peace kept by strapping
    young men with plastic handcuffs. Sadly, the photos below didn’t jibe with the
    reality of yesterday’s protests.

    While Minnesota’s, and the nation’s, eyes should’ve been
    turned to the potential for yet another
    biblical disaster visited upon New Orleans
    , and somewhere between 8,000 and
    10,000 people marched in peaceful protest against the war in Iraq, various
    social injustices, and the lack of proper bagels in the Midwest, a small group
    of asshats were doing all they could to ensure all eyes were on them. And
    sadly, they didn’t feel they could accomplish this by word or crappy bohemian
    performance art, so instead they reportedly lobbed homemade explosives, smashed windows, overturned dumpsters, attacked delegates,
    and generally demonstrated their complete lack of understanding of what free speech
    entails.

    Ignoring, for a moment, the larger issue of how this group
    of irredeemable twats makes it virtually impossible for any of the protestors
    to be taken seriously, they’ve created a significant public safety issue for
    the rest of the convention. The police, having seen what lengths immature
    Marxist wanna-be’s will go to "get their message across to the Capitalist
    pigs," are far more willing to deploy the more unpleasant countermeasures
    available to them. This has already been in ample
    evidence
    , with pepper spray used like so much Binaca
    and canisters of caustic gasses that some claim contain tear gas, but are more
    likely to have released Axe body spray into the air – a sure way to disperse a
    crowd. Law enforcement is already being accused of being overzealous, and it’s
    sad that so many well-intentioned and peaceful activists are being caught up in
    the mess that the demonstrations have become – but it’s hard to blame the
    police when they’re forced to deal with hordes of protesters, any one of whom
    may want to cause harm in a variety of ways.

    But on a larger scale, while no one could’ve possibly
    expected protests at the RNC to remain completely peaceful, there seems to be
    precious little thought actually devoted to these demonstrations. Perhaps if
    they were facing down tanks in Tiananmen Square, violence could be understood.
    But marching the virtually deserted streets of St. Paul, it does nothing to
    advance their cause, obscuring it with sensational headlines and stories rather
    than providing an opportunity for public conversation, debate and discourse.
    It’s telling that the protesters engaged in the vandalism and violence wouldn’t
    show their faces or grant an interview. Frankly, it’s profoundly disgusting
    that anyone could consider this an effective, or even acceptable, form of
    political activism.

    The only consolation I can find in this is how
    unlikely it is any of the asshats in question are fellow Minneapolitans, since
    precious few of us can actually find our way to downtown St. Paul.

  • Rake Against the Machine

    Andy Stern, the president of the Service Employees International Union, has the rugged good looks of a guy who’s been in his fair share of scraps. With his bawdy East Coast accent and bulging nose, he’s definitely not a man to mess with. When he got up on stage at the press conference for the Take Back Labor Day rally, a festival of music and activism, you could tell he was ready for a fight. "This is a time when our government awards wealth but not workers," the labor leader told the crowd of journalists, politicians, and union folks. "We want the kids of working parents to be taken care of. We want workers to be able to retire with dignity."

    The Take Back Labor Day rally was taking place on Harriet Island, directly across the river from the Xcel Energy Center which is hosting the Republican Convention. The SEIU had deliberately hung a massive thirty foot long banner promoting "Health Care for All" that was in full view from all points of the convention. The festival was a pro worker rally that promoted universal health care, higher wages that could support families, and the creation of an America that worked for everyone. But with the money grubbin’ conservatives right across the river, Take Back Labor Day was basically a giant stick in the Republican eye.

    A collection of rock n’ roll hell-raisers flanked Stern on all sides. Framed by a beautiful stone arch and high vaulted ceilings, Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine, alt country pioneer Steve Earle, Imani from rap group the Pharcyde, and world renown protest singer Billy Bragg sat on the stage like a guitar smashing Justice League. While the temperature outside was pushing 90, the tempers inside the Harriet Island pavilion were even hotter.

    "I’m here to physically take back Labor Day," Morello said. No one in the room doubted him for a minute. With his riot inducing rock group Rage Against the Machine, Morello pounds out legendary guitar riffs filled with a sound so angry Molotov cocktails seemingly explode out of his amps. "I find it insulting that the Republicans would choose to start their convention on Labor Day. They support companies that have sweat shops all over the world. And I heard Bush and Cheney aren’t here (in the Twin Cities) because they are heading to the Gulf Coast. I think it’s because they heard Rage was playing on Wednesday."

    The musicians and union leaders discussed how wages for working men and women were steadily going down, all the while CEO and executive salaries have been skyrocketing. Almost everyone in the room – Liberals and Conservatives and tattooed punkers – agreed that the voice of the worker has never been quieter. "In today’s world, standing alone is not an option," Mr. Stern said, his face bristling with emotion. "We are stronger together."

    After a round of rather serious questions, I capped off the press conference with an important one of my own. Since I’m a full blooded blue collar worker and have the scars and early stage arthritis to prove it, I asked a question that the common people of this country would want to know.

    "My name is Todd Smith," I said nervously. "And in honor of Labor Day, I would like to know what the worst job you have had was?"

    The Labor Day Revolutionaries let out an exaggerated groan. "Oh, man," the panel collectively sighed.

    "I worked a horrible shift at a petrol station in England," Billy Bragg said, as he spoke directly to me as I nearly pissed myself in shock. "I was literally living to work. Besides working my shift, the managers would call me at all hours to work for someone that didn’t show. And mind you, I drove a tank in the military once. The petrol station was worse."

    Steve Earle grabbed the microphone and didn’t know where to start. Earle is a former heroin addict and has done serious jail time for drug offenses. Now clean, he just wrapped up his remarkable roll as Walon, a Narcotics Anonymous sponsor on the hit HBO show "The Wire." Earle has lived through a pile of shit and my question was basically for him. "Um, that’s a good one," he grumbled, stroking a hand through his giant woolly beard. "I got to say… the time that I worked at a place where I was both a dishwasher and the ring announcer for the boxing matches that went on in the back."

    Morello went next and everyone in the room buckled their seat belts. He spoke of numerous soul crushing jobs that he has worked over time. Two in particular were awful: a professional alphabetizer and a painter in rooms with no ventilation. "But I think the worst job was when I was working for a Senator in Washington," Morello said. Besides being one the greatest guitar players of all time, Morello is also a Harvard honors graduate. "One time, I answered the phone and a woman was bitching to me about all these immigrants that were moving in to her neighborhood. I told the woman to ‘Go to hell.’ Later, I was yelled at, up and down by everyone in the chain of command. I decided that I didn’t want to work a job that I’d get in trouble for yelling at a racist."

    Stern, the President of the fastest growing union in North America, looked me straight in the eye and simply said, "Digging ditches for the Sussex county mosquito control."

    "You win!" Earle exclaimed. The room erupted with laughter and then emptied. Everyone moved outside to hear some music.

    Backstage, I spotted a man in a pea green Army T-shirt that had the words "Support G.I. Resistance" on the front. The man was extremely muscular, but with his shaggy hair and smooth draw,l he had the demeanor of a surfer/ grad student. He was surrounded by a group of burly men and they all were in various forms of camouflage.

    "Are you an Iraqi war vet?" I asked him. "Yeah," he said. We shook hands. "Names Hart Viges. Served in the 82nd Airborne in Iraq."

    "If you don’t mind, can I ask you why you are here?" I asked nervously. It’s not a regular occurrence that a dumbass like me gets to talk to his musical heroes and his real life heroes in the same day.

    "Not at all," Viges responded kindly. "I’m here because I support unions. I see a direct link between war and poverty. When you provide good wages, health care, and the ability to get an education, why on earth would a city kid join the military? You stop the raft of poverty, you stop the war. These poor kids feel like they have no options and are taken straight out of poverty and put directly into a war." The whole time Viges talked he was measured but passionate. "I talk to kids all over Austin, Texas, where I am from. They always ask me, ‘Are you the guy who is going to tell me not to join the military?’ I tell them that I am the guy that will tell you the whole picture and then let them decide for themselves. They need to know that when they join the military, they are legally the property of the United States Government. Then they have no rights."

    He explained to me that when he got back from proudly serving in Iraq, he immediately filed to be a conscientious objector. "It was the finest moment in my entire Army career," Viges told me. He talked at length about his belief in his country and the words of Jesus. As we chatted, I noticed a large black phone number scribbled across the inside of his forearm. I had also noticed the same phone number written on several of the Vets that were standing around me. He chuckled when I asked him what the number was for. "There is a good chance that I will get arrested this week," he said. "And this is the phone number of our legal team."

    For the rest of the afternoon, Viges stood there soaking in the afternoon sun and enjoying the great music. He was the true American Dream. Hell, he was America. He was a soldier and a pacifist. He loved Jesus but planned for anarchy. He wa
    s a personal guest of Tom Morello and loved every minute of it. There are no parades for our vets when they come back from Iraq or Afghanistan. There are no marching bands meeting them in our airports. Why is that? It was nice to see at least a handful of our vets getting their fair share in the sun. The music rolled on, beach balls bounced all over the crowd, and the cool kids swilled beer under the glorious summer sky. Tom Morello finished his set by ripping into a song titled "The Ghost of Tom Joad," which is cover of a Bruce Springsteen song that has lyrics lifted straight from John Steinback’s classic Dustbowl novel The Grapes of Wrath. As Morello pounded down on a guitar that had the words "Whatever It Takes" scribbled on the face, a small group of B-Boys break danced on a sidewalk and a man on giant stilts bounded across the grass.

    It was freedom at its finest.

  • Sexy Librarian Makes Me Stupid

    A few days ago I had an allergic reaction to Obama’s acceptance speech. I have not changed my mind about Obama, but I have also quickly learned the perils of speaking out of my butt too fast–which is essentially the origin of most political commentary offered without the baptism of time and experience.

    I should have waited a day.

    I don’t need to know much about Sarah Palin to understand where she is coming from. My first reaction was a devil in a blue dress with sexy librarian shades and a social conservative that will tell me what to do.

    While I have not changed my mind about Obama, the timing of my comments and the central reason why he freaks me out may now be coming from the other side of the political spectrum–and as time may show, it could be cloaked in overtly religious terms.

    Let me tell you what to do, sinner.

    So call me stupid–(and this re-link is by design)

    At least I’ll be smart enough to vote in a way that favors one candidate without actually voting for their ticket. It’s cynical, but I’ve done it before. Politics is not my religion nor is religion my politics.

    I am going back to cars.