Chapter Seven - The Beginning of the End
My father was fourteen when the last chopper got out of 'Nam. My parents' generation never really had a war of their own, one to tell the kids about. Sure, there were some minor scuffles, but all the big stuff was over by the time they were my age. Not that that's a bad thing, of course.
That's what made it seem so strange that my generation had a war. The War on Terror.
America has a tendency to either ignore a problem or declare war on it. Think about it. America ignored its drug problem through must of the '60s and '70s. Then what? The War on Drugs. See also the War on Poverty and the War on AIDS. Which makes it unusual that the War on Terror actually was a war.
I lived through it. The second half of my high school career played out against a backdrop of the invasion of Afghanistan, and later Iraq. To make matters worse, I did all of this in a Republican household.
If you asked me to pick a party, I'd still side with mom and dad. I'm in college because of the success of a family businiess, so it's in my interests to have an administration that likes businesses. In truth, I call myself a conservative, but not a Republican. Basically, I've become so disillusioned at the corruption shown by both sides. That, and it seems to me that left-wing psychos bug me one hell of a lot more than right-wing nutjobs. For example, take the girl who sits next to me in my FS. At the beginning of the semester, we were all told to come to the front of the room, say our name, and a brief sentence about ourselves.
She walked up to the front of the class. She was about 60 pounds overweight and was wearing a T-shirt depicting George W Bush wearing a McDonald's uniform with the caption "Over 2 Million Served."
"My name is Marie [she pronounced it with a French accent], and I hate George Bush."
That's right. She was told to come to the front, say her name, and say one thing about herself. She used two out of three to decry the Republican President. She knew she would have to put up with these people for an entire semester and deemed that she must use this opportunity, not to bond with her peer group, but to denounce George Bush! Fucking insane (and hardly surprising she used a French accent instead of an American one). At least all the right-wingers do is yell at me for skipping church. Oh, yeah, and something about killing babies.
To their credit, Allegheny came up with a clever way to get the ambivalent and disgusted to show up to the election participation rally at the Campus Center. Two words: all-you-can-eat wings. Okay, that's five words by some definitions. To which I say, I'm the English major.
So anyway, Chandler and I were sitting in the back booth at McKinley's wolfing down said wings. Our plates looked like the rabbit scene from Monty Python. Chandler was a Democrat the way I was a Republican. We'd both lost faith in our government years ago.
"I'm seriously wondering how many chickens died for this." I said.
"The Emcee said something about 1,000 pounds already being eaten." he said between bites. He swallowed. "So, America's fucked either way, am I right?"
"I'd say so. We either get a left-wing cocksucker who wants to turn Iraq into another 'Nam or a right-wing dumbass who can't spell 'Iraq,' let alone rehab it."
"Amen to that, brother. So, how's the roommate situation?"
"Eh, it's all right. He's been a bit touchy lately."
"Don't let the bastard push you around. It's your room, too."
"Easy for you to say. Your roommate's never there." It was true. Chandler's roommate was a transfer student who'd set up his schedule so that he only had class on Monday through Thursday. The guy would show up around eight in the evening on Sunday, stay until his last class ended at 3:30 on Thursday, then went home for the rest of the time.
Chandler grinned. "Hey, we can't all get so lucky. I've never been to Ravine; we should go down there."
"Not tonight, man." I said. "Everybody'll be over there. Ever since he brought back that futon from fall break, our room's the meeting place for our pod and the girls' pod above it."
"Oh, ladies." Chandler said, only half sarcastic.
"Forget it. Most of them are spoken for, one's a ditz, and the other's a bleeding heart liberal."
"You say that likes it's a bad thing."
"What, the liberal or the ditz?"
Chandler just winked.
I sighed. "Damn you, I know I'm gonna wind up taking you back now."
"Mark." said Chandler, looking me straight in the eye. "Before we go any further, there's something you should know."
"What?"
"I don't have sex on the first date."
"Man, fuck you, Byron!" I said, shaking my head.
Originally posted on December 16th, 2004
That's what made it seem so strange that my generation had a war. The War on Terror.
America has a tendency to either ignore a problem or declare war on it. Think about it. America ignored its drug problem through must of the '60s and '70s. Then what? The War on Drugs. See also the War on Poverty and the War on AIDS. Which makes it unusual that the War on Terror actually was a war.
I lived through it. The second half of my high school career played out against a backdrop of the invasion of Afghanistan, and later Iraq. To make matters worse, I did all of this in a Republican household.
If you asked me to pick a party, I'd still side with mom and dad. I'm in college because of the success of a family businiess, so it's in my interests to have an administration that likes businesses. In truth, I call myself a conservative, but not a Republican. Basically, I've become so disillusioned at the corruption shown by both sides. That, and it seems to me that left-wing psychos bug me one hell of a lot more than right-wing nutjobs. For example, take the girl who sits next to me in my FS. At the beginning of the semester, we were all told to come to the front of the room, say our name, and a brief sentence about ourselves.
She walked up to the front of the class. She was about 60 pounds overweight and was wearing a T-shirt depicting George W Bush wearing a McDonald's uniform with the caption "Over 2 Million Served."
"My name is Marie [she pronounced it with a French accent], and I hate George Bush."
That's right. She was told to come to the front, say her name, and say one thing about herself. She used two out of three to decry the Republican President. She knew she would have to put up with these people for an entire semester and deemed that she must use this opportunity, not to bond with her peer group, but to denounce George Bush! Fucking insane (and hardly surprising she used a French accent instead of an American one). At least all the right-wingers do is yell at me for skipping church. Oh, yeah, and something about killing babies.
To their credit, Allegheny came up with a clever way to get the ambivalent and disgusted to show up to the election participation rally at the Campus Center. Two words: all-you-can-eat wings. Okay, that's five words by some definitions. To which I say, I'm the English major.
So anyway, Chandler and I were sitting in the back booth at McKinley's wolfing down said wings. Our plates looked like the rabbit scene from Monty Python. Chandler was a Democrat the way I was a Republican. We'd both lost faith in our government years ago.
"I'm seriously wondering how many chickens died for this." I said.
"The Emcee said something about 1,000 pounds already being eaten." he said between bites. He swallowed. "So, America's fucked either way, am I right?"
"I'd say so. We either get a left-wing cocksucker who wants to turn Iraq into another 'Nam or a right-wing dumbass who can't spell 'Iraq,' let alone rehab it."
"Amen to that, brother. So, how's the roommate situation?"
"Eh, it's all right. He's been a bit touchy lately."
"Don't let the bastard push you around. It's your room, too."
"Easy for you to say. Your roommate's never there." It was true. Chandler's roommate was a transfer student who'd set up his schedule so that he only had class on Monday through Thursday. The guy would show up around eight in the evening on Sunday, stay until his last class ended at 3:30 on Thursday, then went home for the rest of the time.
Chandler grinned. "Hey, we can't all get so lucky. I've never been to Ravine; we should go down there."
"Not tonight, man." I said. "Everybody'll be over there. Ever since he brought back that futon from fall break, our room's the meeting place for our pod and the girls' pod above it."
"Oh, ladies." Chandler said, only half sarcastic.
"Forget it. Most of them are spoken for, one's a ditz, and the other's a bleeding heart liberal."
"You say that likes it's a bad thing."
"What, the liberal or the ditz?"
Chandler just winked.
I sighed. "Damn you, I know I'm gonna wind up taking you back now."
"Mark." said Chandler, looking me straight in the eye. "Before we go any further, there's something you should know."
"What?"
"I don't have sex on the first date."
"Man, fuck you, Byron!" I said, shaking my head.
Originally posted on December 16th, 2004
posted by Andrew Michael at 9:04 PM
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