Jesus did not build my hot rod
On my walk to work this morning it was a brisk, slightly sunny 45 degrees. The tips of my ears were frosted. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets—I hadn’t thought until today about carrying a pair of gloves. The wind—of which we have too much of on the prairie—exchanged evil glances with me the entire way here. Gone is Fall’s polite, inconspicuous entrance, and this morning that became all too clear.
I'm a hole without a key if I break my tongue
Oh, speaking of tomorrow, how will it ever come?
Kerry’s run at the Oval Office appears to be a longshot at this point. Please don’t hit me with another reference to the Red Sox’ magical defeat of the Yankees. Yes, the analogy may indeed be fitting—two differing giants with cash to burn and a fire in their bellies, one with history on his side, the other with America supposedly at his back. But even the optimist in me thinks that at this point in the Fall, New England has used up its reservoir of positive karma, elbow grease and blind luck. Sure, I hope I’m wrong—but the votes don’t lie (except, when they do…but how many lawyers does it take to prove that?).
I’ve never felt as disillusioned with America as I did this morning at about 1 a.m., when it became clear that Ohio was probably not going to go Kerry’s way. I’ve always held firm to my belief that there are more important issues in a majority of American’s lives than feeling like they could feel comfortable sitting next to the president of the country in a church pew. Do we not have more pressing needs than to reassess America’s moral core? Why do we lean so heavily on the black book?
I used to assume that Americans used religion as a social crutch, but that a good deal of church-going folks didn’t really buy into the program. Maybe they fell in love with the romantic idea of washing away their sins every Sunday, but ultimately it was the potluck that followed the 11 a.m. service that they looked forward to. For my parents, their entire circle of close friends was based solely on the church. For my mom, it meant prayer circle and quilting club and vacation bible school; for my dad it meant being a Deacon and hosting the annual weenie roast.
As I grew older and became disillusioned with church and religion entirely—I stopped attending at the age of 15, much to my parent’s chagrin, when the unanswered questions piled up—I came to terms with the fact that my parents really did believe what they were told…hook, line and sinker. Their blinders were up. They were locked in. They weren’t just in love with the concept of church. They needed to believe in the holy spirits and the parting of the sea and the ten commandments, too. They needed to believe that no matter how much they had screwed up their lives, as long as they had their faith they were sound human beings. And, I suppose, America needs to believe in a president that wears his born-again heart on his sleeve—no matter the blows to humanity his presidency inflicts.
Jesus, don't cry
You can rely on me, honey
You can come by any time you want
I'll be around
You were right about the stars
Each one is a setting sun
Sure, I realize the explanation is more complex than that. But right now I’m just filled with a whole lot of anger toward this so-called “religious right” that has created a moral dilemma that has Americans mobilizing all of a sudden.
Oddly enough, I don’t think Jesus or George Bush can patch my bitter heart. I hate a lot about my lot in life right now—the way the world around me alternates between smothering my head under a pillow and distancing itself like a cross-country lover. But, I now realize more than ever that it’s up to me to do the fixing. It’s up to me to do the caring. It’s up to me to beg for luck.
I want a good life with a nose for things
a fresh wind and bright sky to enjoy my suffering
From now on, I don’t expect the world of anyone, let alone the world itself. You hear that Alabama and Montana and Arizona and West Virginia and Florida? I don’t need your damn help anymore, and I won’t be looking over my shoulder to see if you’ve got my back. That’s my spin, and I’m sticking to it.
I would like to salute
the ashes of American flags
And all the fallen leaves
filling up shopping bags
Walking to work this morning, Wilco just seemed like the obvious choice for the mp3 player. They’re an American band, right? More specifically, they speak for the Midwest, don’t they? More than ever, I wish they did. And if The Boss doesn’t speak for (and to) small town America in the year 2004, does it mean he’s gotta turn over all those gold records from the ‘80s? I guess we’ll let him keep them. After all, he went out there and begged for some luck. And I’m no one to talk: I spent my vacation sitting on my ass when clearly I could have spent my time more wisely.
I think I’ll be turning to music even more than usual in the coming year. It’s my crutch, and damn if it hasn’t proven to be a sturdy one.
I'm a hole without a key if I break my tongue
Oh, speaking of tomorrow, how will it ever come?
Kerry’s run at the Oval Office appears to be a longshot at this point. Please don’t hit me with another reference to the Red Sox’ magical defeat of the Yankees. Yes, the analogy may indeed be fitting—two differing giants with cash to burn and a fire in their bellies, one with history on his side, the other with America supposedly at his back. But even the optimist in me thinks that at this point in the Fall, New England has used up its reservoir of positive karma, elbow grease and blind luck. Sure, I hope I’m wrong—but the votes don’t lie (except, when they do…but how many lawyers does it take to prove that?).
I’ve never felt as disillusioned with America as I did this morning at about 1 a.m., when it became clear that Ohio was probably not going to go Kerry’s way. I’ve always held firm to my belief that there are more important issues in a majority of American’s lives than feeling like they could feel comfortable sitting next to the president of the country in a church pew. Do we not have more pressing needs than to reassess America’s moral core? Why do we lean so heavily on the black book?
I used to assume that Americans used religion as a social crutch, but that a good deal of church-going folks didn’t really buy into the program. Maybe they fell in love with the romantic idea of washing away their sins every Sunday, but ultimately it was the potluck that followed the 11 a.m. service that they looked forward to. For my parents, their entire circle of close friends was based solely on the church. For my mom, it meant prayer circle and quilting club and vacation bible school; for my dad it meant being a Deacon and hosting the annual weenie roast.
As I grew older and became disillusioned with church and religion entirely—I stopped attending at the age of 15, much to my parent’s chagrin, when the unanswered questions piled up—I came to terms with the fact that my parents really did believe what they were told…hook, line and sinker. Their blinders were up. They were locked in. They weren’t just in love with the concept of church. They needed to believe in the holy spirits and the parting of the sea and the ten commandments, too. They needed to believe that no matter how much they had screwed up their lives, as long as they had their faith they were sound human beings. And, I suppose, America needs to believe in a president that wears his born-again heart on his sleeve—no matter the blows to humanity his presidency inflicts.
Jesus, don't cry
You can rely on me, honey
You can come by any time you want
I'll be around
You were right about the stars
Each one is a setting sun
Sure, I realize the explanation is more complex than that. But right now I’m just filled with a whole lot of anger toward this so-called “religious right” that has created a moral dilemma that has Americans mobilizing all of a sudden.
Oddly enough, I don’t think Jesus or George Bush can patch my bitter heart. I hate a lot about my lot in life right now—the way the world around me alternates between smothering my head under a pillow and distancing itself like a cross-country lover. But, I now realize more than ever that it’s up to me to do the fixing. It’s up to me to do the caring. It’s up to me to beg for luck.
I want a good life with a nose for things
a fresh wind and bright sky to enjoy my suffering
From now on, I don’t expect the world of anyone, let alone the world itself. You hear that Alabama and Montana and Arizona and West Virginia and Florida? I don’t need your damn help anymore, and I won’t be looking over my shoulder to see if you’ve got my back. That’s my spin, and I’m sticking to it.
I would like to salute
the ashes of American flags
And all the fallen leaves
filling up shopping bags
Walking to work this morning, Wilco just seemed like the obvious choice for the mp3 player. They’re an American band, right? More specifically, they speak for the Midwest, don’t they? More than ever, I wish they did. And if The Boss doesn’t speak for (and to) small town America in the year 2004, does it mean he’s gotta turn over all those gold records from the ‘80s? I guess we’ll let him keep them. After all, he went out there and begged for some luck. And I’m no one to talk: I spent my vacation sitting on my ass when clearly I could have spent my time more wisely.
I think I’ll be turning to music even more than usual in the coming year. It’s my crutch, and damn if it hasn’t proven to be a sturdy one.
All my lies are always wishes
I know I would die if I could come back new
Good call. I grew up in a blue-collar city area where the Church was basically an organized public square. Boy Scouts. Potlucks. Basketball and Bingo. The idea that we should have social/political opinions based on religion never really entered the picture - when I arrived in the suburbs I was really surprised at how seriously everyone took it.
I keep meaning to swing by my old church (I haven't been to one since I've gotten to college) and see if it's the same, and not an awful Republican GOTV surrogate. I'm fearful to see it that way - it means too much for me.
By 
, at 10:57 AM
10:57 AMAll my lies are always wishes
I know I would die if I could come back new
Good call. I grew up in a blue-collar city area where the Church was basically an organized public square. Boy Scouts. Potlucks. Basketball and Bingo. The idea that we should have social/political opinions based on religion never really entered the picture - when I arrived in the suburbs I was really surprised at how seriously everyone took it.
I keep meaning to swing by my old church (I haven't been to one since I've gotten to college) and see if it's the same, and not an awful Republican GOTV surrogate. I'm fearful to see it that way - it means too much for me.