I Went To a Garden Party

Yesterday the family ventured out to Downtown with the intent of seeing the OCMoA's loaner exhibit from the British Museum's Egypt collection. Arriving on the scene, we found parking spaces to be at a premium and we had to park a few blocks over. I answered curious enquiries as to why by mentioning the peace festival, held annually in the Hall of Mirrors, was the likely draw. This was met with great interest, so we went there first.

If you haven't been, this is an event which features information tables and various wares offered by the deepest indigo blue-staters in the metro area. All the heavy-hitters were there including Amnesty International, Sierra Club, Green Party, Greenpeace, etc. plus a few local flavors. As I am in so many places, I was def a fish-out-of-water. I immediately had an allergic reaction to the whole place - mainly at the practitioners. I have struggled with this affliction for years. I walk into assemblages like these and I am bombarded by emotional responses I can't understand. It makes me appreciate the difficulties faced by SID folks.

It's frustrating because I can't quite get a handle on it and that annoys me to no end. I feel contemptuous, judgmental, confused, stubborn, schadenfreude; all these and more all at once. I'm confused because I agree with the sentiment of probably 80% of the people in there (in fact I knew three of the people manning the booths), and yet I'm compelled to roll my eyes and laugh at them. My initial analysis is that it's some sort of deep conditioning I got as a child growing up in a cult, going to gunshows, hoarding weapons, ammo, precious metals and pennies. But I have overcome so many other elements of that conditioning, it seems too easy an explanation. I've even wondered if seeing Vietnam War protesters and civil rights activists beaten up on the nightly news as a four and five year old somehow conditioned me to feel that way. I discount that because I don't and never have felt violent toward anyone in my whole life, but maybe there's something there.

Another thing is that it seemed like such a club. I always hate that. For one thing I don't really like any of the uniforms available (e.g. tie-dye, long scraggly hair, saffron robes). There tend to be a lot of intractable holier-than-thou positions to take, many of them hypocritical, and therefore not unlike those folks on the other side. The difference is those folks on the other side used to be my folks. I guess I've already picked and chosen from them and fought the battles so I'm either more tolerant or at the very least, not passionate in my opinions regarding them anymore.

I couldn't make it in the club because I would be paralyzed. The concession was selling Starbucks coffee and I felt like if I walked around with a cup the anti-globalization guy would get on me. I only hoped the socially-responsible investing guy and the Fair Trade guy would come to my rescue, but if the investing guy came to my aid, he would risk getting sucker-punched by the Socialist Youth guy. So I just went without coffee. And the ham sandwiches. Forget it. I mean, they put the vegan table right by the exit, how was I going to get out of there alive?

And then there was sort of a general disdain I picked up for America and American culture and a corresponding heightened interest in exotic cultures. There is def a lot of baby-bathwater tossing I think. Just because America may have been co-opted by robber barons again, doesn't mean we the people are bad people and doesn't mean we shouldn't make lionize the ideals of the white males up on Mt. Rushmore. I couldn't help thinking that if some of these causes started adorning their material with American flags and using words like heritage and freedom it might be a little more palatable to the great middle in this country. Maybe they don't want that. Maybe that would dissolve their raison d'etre.

In my defense, I want to remind you that I do not act on these impulses. I don't laugh at people I don't know. I don't treat them poorly when I interact with them. I picked up their pamphlets and read them. I engaged a couple of booth-manners on the issues. The fact that I'm there proves I'm open-minded. But why does it bother me so much? If you know me, go ahead, take a whack at me; leave a comment.

The funniest thing was when I turned the last corner and saw one of my best friends at the World Neighbors booth. She was shocked that I was at a peace festival. I was shocked that she was shocked. I said, "I'm all about peace. Fair Trade, non-violence, justice, unions, condoms, environmental protection; what's not to like?" She just smiled and said, "Just by yourself, right." She knows me all too well...

A Bleedin' Tragedy

If you know me, you know I'm not a joiner. I don't go to church because I love Jesus, but not his fanclub. I knit, but not in circles. I mourn the decline of Oddfellows, Moose and Elks (even though they're supposed to be making a come back) but I wouldn't join them anyway. But today all that changed. I joined the gang at Guys Who Hate Guys Who Wear Garden Clogs. I was at the blood institute making my triweekly donation of platelets when this really annoying guy came in. He's toying with 60, tall, thin (very distrustful qualities) and he's one of those people who get really comfortable somewhere because they have nowhere else to be and acts like he owns the place or worse yet, like he works there. I see it all the time at the Last Public Place in America. They come behind the desk or they ask to use the stapler once and before you know it you're witnessing a progression from habit to constititutional right. Well anyway this guy, who obviously has no post-retirement life, plops down in the couchy thing and gets set to give. OK, one of the awesome things about donating - besides saving lives - is that you get a full array of free snacks and an overstocked fridge with every imaginable non-potent potable. Well this guy brought his own snacks - granola and grapes. That is just wrong on so many levels. And then he starts in on Chilean grapes. And then I see them. He stretches out and he has on beige plastic garden clogs. You know the ones. With the slingback. The ones like Genie and other middle-aged women wear. I don't care how comfortable they are. That is just so wrong on so many levels.

Meanwhile there's me and a really attractive fortyish businesswoman in there about to finsh. After she leaves he asks the nurse who's the woman, is she a regular, what does she do? She seems really familiar he says. "I do lots of volunteering, though, so I could've seen her anywhere," he says. Please. That is just stalker codetalk. And the nurses told him everything about her. As a nominal protector of three, I got really angry with all of them. I asked the nurse, isn't that a HIPAA violation or something and she says oh he's harmless. He comes in here all the time, he's one of our biggest donors. So now I'm a member of the GWHGWWGC.