Don't blame me, I voted for (insert losing Republican candidate's name here)

I normally don't wax political in this blog, mostly because I am forced to maintain my sobriety here in the desert. But waking up to The Announcement this week was hardly a surprise to me. I predicted several months ago to some friends that if Obama got the nomination he was a lock, and even last week told a buddy that Obama would win in a landslide.

I must admit that I am not anywhere nearly as dismayed as my conservative influences think I should be. President-elect Obama is either the Antichrist or the Messiah, depending on who you ask. There are a few things about this entire process that concern me, however.

First, because I didn't vote for Obama, I am a racist. I also predicted months ago that the left-leaning media would at least imply this. For the last several weeks, they did more than that.

Secondly, an alarming number of conservatives predicted all sorts of calamity if McCain didn't win. I even got a plethora of emails forwarded to me from some so-called "prophets" who either wrongly predicted that McCain would win, even going so far as to proclaim various "moves of God" were that to occur, or predicted that God would punish America if Obama won. One particular crackpot even went so far as to say that God told him in 2000 that not only would Bush serve two terms, but we would suffer an economic crisis toward the end of his second term. ("I'm not telling you who to vote for, but if Obama gets elected, God's gonna be really pissed!") Well, thanks a lot for sharing your incredible insight with us back then, pal! We could have voted someone else in back then and perhaps avoided all this mess. How much money did you make selling all your Freddie Mac and Countrywide stock earlier this year, by the way?

Most of this drivel was little more than recycled versions of Pat Robertson's book, "New World Order," that predicted similar woes -- in 1992. These sorts of things seem to have a nasty habit of creeping up whenever it looks like a Democrat is already ordering drapes for the White House.

The most disturbing feature during this election has been the calls for assassination of Obama -- even from audience members at Republican campaign speeches. Why these asshats aren't in Gitmo right now is beyond me, but had I noticed it before sent in my ballot, I would have changed my vote on that alone. I sure didn't see any condemnation of it by McCain or Palin, much less any conservative press.

So what happened in the election -- did God suddenly throw in the towel and decide sometime on Tuesday, about 9:45 p.m. EDT, that not enough Christians prayed for McCain to win? The prophets are thus far silent, but I'm sure when all the post-mortem analysis is over, we'll find that more people voted for McCain than for Bush in either 2000 or 2004. But McCain didn't lose because Christians failed to meet some pre-ordained prayer quota -- he lost because his campaign was too negative, too closely allied with Bush, and kept reminding us ad nauseum of the five years he spent in NVA captivity. Sarah Palin didn't help his campaign much either. Well OK, let's be real -- he lost because he got fewer votes.

I've never been on the "Obama is a communist, Moslem, terrorist-fist-bumping Antichrist" bandwagon that the false prophets are driving anymore than I believed Palin to be the inexperienced, backwater, religious wingnut (update: clueless hillbilly) that the left-leaning media did a pretty good job of portraying her to be. I'm not saying Obama should be immortalized on Mount Rushmore just yet, but I certainly don't believe any of these doomsday prophecies about him.

For the last century or so, Christians have been sheepishly deluded into thinking that America is God's second chosen nation after Israel, as if we've mystically achieved some heavenly Most Favored Nation status. I am equally unconvinced that God doesn't have better things to do than worry about how many Christians prayed for candidate X, anymore than he cares about high school football game scores. The God I believe in isn't that petty. There is not one shred of scriptural evidence to suggest that Jesus even cared about politics (or the almighty dollar) almost 1,800 years before America was formed -- so it seems to me that if God really does care enough about American politics that He wants to use only Republican Presidents for good in the world, then things sure would be a whole lot different today. Or at least they should be.

Am I really supposed to believe the world is about to be cast into hopeless turmoil just because a black Democrat got elected as President? Should I start buying my own generators and stockpiling supplies to prepare for the impending Great(er) Depression? I'm sorry, I just can't bring myself to swallow that -- anymore than I swallowed all the failed Y2K doomsday prophets about 10 years ago. Republicans have screwed things up for years now, even when they had the White House and with or without a majority in Congress -- maybe the Democracts can do something. Let's just hope they don't screw things up more, or even worse, continue to do nothing.

As unprecedented numbers of people voted this week, surely millions of true believers cast their vote for Obama despite all the desperate, eleventh-hour "warnings from God." After weeks of sitting on the fence, and marking unknown local Republicans for office, last month I finally sent in my absentee ballot for McCain -- regardless of whether or not it was actually counted, doesn't that score me extra points with God?

More importantly, since I seem to be so prescient, maybe I should be elevating my own prophetic status. Just start sending me all your money now.

Under the heat

Today is the 25th anniversary of the Beirut barracks bombing.  In honor of the brave Marines, Soldiers, and Sailors whose lives were taken that day, I offer only the simple lyrics of one of my most favorite songs, "Under the Heat" by The 77s.  The song was written as a tribute, and released on their 1984 album, All Fall Down.  Its lyrics seem eerily prescient today.

Like a snap of the fingers
It was just that quick
The building had fallen
And shattered and
Melted under the heat
We found a buddy
Who was covered in blood
He kept trying to get up and look
Lay down, lay down, lay down marine
Under the heat
All our lives changing
Under the heat
"Take your cameras and
get out of here"
"Forget it" said the C.O.
"You're out of line,
you're angry, I'm angry,
they're angry,
just do the job."
Under the heat
We stopped to listen for voices
And then we'd dig with
Whatever we had
Listen and dig, listen and dig,
Listen and dig
Under the heat
All our lives changing
Under the heat
Reaching through this
Curtain of fear
My arms are stretched
Beyond the limit
I take the heat from
Streaming tears
To bear the cold and
Walk out in it
Walk out in it
My plans for the future
Are a frozen picture
That has fallen and
Shattered and melted
Under the heat
All our lives changing
Under the heat

--Papers fluttered in the gentle October breeze and a page from a pocket-sized Bible lay on the ground. It was open to the book of Psalms. The passage said, "For they do not talk of peace, but against the quiet ones of the land they plot treacharies..." From the San Fransisco Chronicle Monday, October 24, 1983

Dude, it's just a shirt

When I'm either cycling or teaching spin class, I wear typical cyclists' garb: stretchy biker pants, special shoes, and some sort of loud riding jersey so I can be seen on the road.  My favorite top is a replica of the jersey worn by the 1980 Soviet Union Olympic cycling team -- it is bright red, and emblazoned with the infamously yellow hammer, sickle, star, and "CCCP" on all sides.  As you might imagine, this shirt elicits the most comments -- especially here at Camp Arifjan, where it is not uncommon to see Brits, Poles, Estonians, or any number of other coalition troops mingling around with us.  I've even had chow-hall conversations with some Eastern Europeans who have told me they speak Russian better than they speak English, as they were forced to learn it growing up.

 

Early this morning as I was warming up for a long ride, reveille sounded and as always I dutifully stopped, dismounted my bike, faced the music, and saluted.  Moments later I passed a bus stop and was flagged down by a curious Staff Sergeant who asked me if I was from Russia.  I chuckled and said no, explaining that I bought the shirt online.  He sort of cocked his head to one side and said, "Isn't that Communist?"  I realized he was serious, but I was in no mood for an argument so I replied, "You're kidding me, right?  I suppose if that works for you then whatever.  It's just a replica of a 1980 Soviet cycling team jersey."  But this guy appeared honestly offended.

After a short, dumbfounded pause the Staff Sergeant replied:  "But that represents Communism."

Eager to get on to my workout, I said, "Look bud, I was a Russian linguist in 1989.  You can think whatever you want,"  and off I rode, while the aghast soldier remained on the curb.  

When I was in Russian language school, our teachers -- all native Russians -- prepared us for the final exams in reading, listening, and speaking.  One particular assigment I remember was an oral essay in which I discussed the issue of flag burning with Mrs. Rudikova, whom we affectinately called "Rude Dog."  Instead of taking the predictable kill-em-all stance, I told my teacher, in Russian, that there should be no laws against burning flags because flags are just cloth symbols and inherently, don't really mean anything.  Flag burners are little more than attention whores and if we just ignore them, they'll probably stop.  The look on her face was priceless -- and it was hard for me to keep a straight face.

Maybe the Staff Sergeant was confused because he saw a guy in a Soviet shirt saluting the American flag at reveille, or maybe he is just too young to really remember the 80's.  Maybe he never saw "Rocky IV," which everyone over 30 knows is the real reason Communism is dead.  (For last night's spin class, I played all 80's music, and one song was Survivor's "Burning Heart" from the movie.)  Perhaps the young NCO, like most Americans, is tragically too jingoistic to understand sarcasm or satire -- or that sometimes, a shirt is just a shirt.

He would have really been confused if I'd answered him in Russian.