Okay America, I'm not going to threaten you with death if you don't go to the polls for any of your states' primaries or for the general election in the fall. I will say, though, that it has never been clearer in the history of our "democracy" (really a republic) that your vote does count, and with so many elections in the past several years being won, or even stolen, by such small margins, it is crucial that everyone who is concerned with the state of our government or our future as a country gets out and votes.
I definitely understand that the system can be frustrating sometimes, and I know how hard working up the motivation to participate can be. Trust me; I was there. It's the age old reasoning of, "I'm just one person in a country of 300 million. How does my vote even count?" Well, I'm here to tell you, it friggin' counts. If everyone in the country had this philosophy, we'd have to revamp the entire system so that people in power get to decide who the torch gets passed to, if it gets passed at all. There are many examples throughout history of governments set up that way. How many of them have been successful? How many of the people living under those types of rule have been happy?
Okay, so it's unlikely that it would ever happen that no one in the country went to the polls during an election, but let's look at something more realistic. Do you know what kind of people consistently head to the polls without fail? It is people who are passionate about the issues. And while the breakdown of voters registered as either Republican, Democrat or Other is pretty even, people who lean far left or far right on the issues are more likely to be passionate about the issues than someone who is more toward the center.
Before I continue, let me just say that the above statement is merely an observation from my own experience. I do not have any hard research to back this up, but aside from anecdotal evidence, there is a dynamic in this country's politics that seems to support it. Look at how polarized politics have become. Of course, there have been some pretty important issues to get people on both sides of "the aisle" worked up, but it has only helped to solidify and exacerbate a system of opposition that has been building for decades. The rhetoric out of Washington almost forces us to choose a side all the way. There's almost no middle ground any more.
But if you want my opinion, our country by its very nature is not "far left" or "far right". When I talk to people casually on the issues, there is usually a gray area. People who say, for example, that they agree with the war but not how we went about it, or that they don't agree with it but that now that we're in, we just can't leave. Sure, there are those Bush-is-right-always-has-been-and-always-will-be people out there, just as there are those on the opposite side, but there aren't as many as the current state of politics and the media would have us believe. The problem is that the people on the outer extremes of the scale have the loudest, and often most obnoxious voices.
I say let the voices in the middle rise up and drown out the fanatics who want to turn our country into either a left wing Utopia or a right wing Paradise. Because either case would be neither Utopia nor Paradise. Be passionate about the issues without being extreme. Vote always to help make our government more effective instead of more factional. And you do have the right to bitch, even if you don't vote, but realize that if you didn't contribute, it's your own damn fault.
Obama'08: Change We Can Believe In.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Letters from the Lost Man, Part 13
"You have a concussion," the doctor answers. "It's not uncommon to have feelings of displacement or hallucinations. Your brain took quite a rap."
I nod. "Makes sense, I guess." I really wish I knew more about medicine. I have no way to verify what he's saying. All I know is, something weird is going on.
"The most important thing," the doctor adds, "is that you get some rest. Your body needs to heal after that accident."
Again, I nod.
A nurse walks in. "Mr. Menda? You have a visitor."
I look around. The doctor and I are the only two people in the room. I point to myself with a puzzled expression.
"You are Michael Menda, correct?" the nurse asks.
Something about that sounds familiar. With both the doctor and nurse staring at me concernedly, I nod.
"You have a visitor," the nurse informs me. She steps away from the door. A woman enters from the hallway. It's my wife, Linda.
She runs to my bedside. "Oh, Mike, are you okay?" she asks, relieved tears in her eyes.
"I think so," I tell her, "but I'm pretty beat up. Doctor says I need to rest."
She nods, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "I was so worried. Thank God you're okay," she sighs as she pulls me into a tight embrace.
The hug is a little uncomfortable physically, but it's very comforting and familiar. I can feel the confusion starting to lift as bits of my life come back to me.
"Listen to me, Richard," Linda says gravely in another woman's voice.
Great... Just when things are starting to make sense again.
"Don't react," she says calmly. "Don't let on to the doctor that you can hear me. Just act like nothing is out of the ordinary."
Sure, and after that maybe I'll levitate off my bed and recite Pi to 1200 places. Nothing could be easier.
"I know it's tough, Richard," the strange voice coming from my wife says, while she straightens the bed sheets over me. Her eyes do not betray any hint of this conversation.
"Okay," I say, trying to look comfortable.
"Don't say anything," she whispers quickly. "I know it seems like I'm talking to you through someone, but that's only in your mind."
Only in my mind. Fantastic. I'm going crazy.
"Your not crazy, Richard," the woman's voice reassures me.
Okay, that's kind of freaky. Did she just read my thoughts?
"I can hear some of what you're thinking," she confirms. "But it's only the more simple thoughts right now. As we figure this out more, it should become easier for you."
What the hell is going on?
Just then, the doctor looks up from his notes. "If you're feeling fine right now, Mr. Menda, I will go ahead and take my leave. The nurse will be in to check on you periodically."
I blink at him for a few seconds, having completely forgotten he was even in the room. "Oh, yeah," I mumble.
"We'll probably keep you overnight for observation, but you should be able to go home tomorrow," he explains.
"Oh, okay," I say dumbly.
"Thank you so much, doctor," my wife says in her own voice.
I glance at her suspiciously. She returns my look with a loving smile.
"My pleasure," the doctor says, standing and hurrying out of the room.
Linda gazes down at me and runs her fingers through my hair gently. "Okay, now listen closely," she says in the other woman's voice.
"Do you really have to do that? It totally freaks me out," I snap.
Linda freezes and drops her hand back to her side. "I'm sorry, honey, I'm just trying to comfort you," she says in her own, hurt voice.
"Apologize to her," the other woman's voice says.
Jesus, this is confusing. "I'm sorry, babe. I don't know why I said that. Must've bumped my head pretty bad."
"It's okay," Linda nods, patting my hand.
"I'm sorry about how uncomfortable this is, Richard," the other woman says through my wife's freakishly moving lips. "It's the only way I can talk to you without raising suspicion. Well, that and I can't really figure out another way. If you just act naturally, I will try to explain."
I lay back and try to look comfortable...and comforted.
"My name is Loretta Vine," the woman's voice says. "I was once the assistant of a Doctor Hans Spector, a medical researcher employed by a U.S. government agency. You and I are currently undergoing experimental rehabilitation treatment. Nothing that you currently see around you is really happening. It is all a fabrication generated by a computer that is directly stimulating nerve cells in your brain.
"Richard," she sighs apologetically, "they've erased our memories and are trying to program us with new ones. They're trying to give us new lives against our wills."
I lay there in stunned silence. Slowly, I begin to realize that something doesn't quite make sense with her story. If her memory was erased as well, then how is she here explaining all this to me?
"I know you're confused," Loretta's voice says. "It's quiet in here, want to watch TV?"
"Huh?" I can't help but ask.
My wife repeats, "Want to watch TV? It's just so quiet."
"Oh," I nod. "Sure."
"You feeling alright, baby?" she asks.
"Yeah, just tired," I reply. Tired and utterly perplexed.
She picks up the remote. "TV will help. Maybe you'll fall asleep to it," she suggests.
"Maybe," I agree, managing a smile.
"I know your confused, Richard," Loretta's voice repeats as my wife turns on the television and begins to channel surf.
Damn straight...
"I'm trying to hack my way into other parts of the system so that we can make this a little easier or maybe even get out of here," Loretta tells me.
"The truth is," she continues, "I'm not really even sure how I've managed to get to where I am, but somebody must have really overlooked my readouts. It's too late now. I've set it up so that everything will look normal for a while. I'll need to go soon so I can shore it up a little better though."
How do I even know any of this is real?
"It's real, Richard," Loretta answers my unspoken question. "You know it's real, deep down inside. Just keep acting natural, no matter what happens. If something seems out of the ordinary, it is your brain trying to reject the programming and remember its true life. If you react too much to it, it will set off alarms in the monitoring program, which will increase the amount of medication flowing into you and cause the program to refocus its attention on the part of your brain that's rebelling. If it gets too bad, Dr. Spector and his team will go in manually to reset the project. I'm not sure how I'll get to you again if that happens."
Chills shoot up and down my spine. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck bristles. I really don't like the sound of that last part.
***
I nod. "Makes sense, I guess." I really wish I knew more about medicine. I have no way to verify what he's saying. All I know is, something weird is going on.
"The most important thing," the doctor adds, "is that you get some rest. Your body needs to heal after that accident."
Again, I nod.
A nurse walks in. "Mr. Menda? You have a visitor."
I look around. The doctor and I are the only two people in the room. I point to myself with a puzzled expression.
"You are Michael Menda, correct?" the nurse asks.
Something about that sounds familiar. With both the doctor and nurse staring at me concernedly, I nod.
"You have a visitor," the nurse informs me. She steps away from the door. A woman enters from the hallway. It's my wife, Linda.
She runs to my bedside. "Oh, Mike, are you okay?" she asks, relieved tears in her eyes.
"I think so," I tell her, "but I'm pretty beat up. Doctor says I need to rest."
She nods, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "I was so worried. Thank God you're okay," she sighs as she pulls me into a tight embrace.
The hug is a little uncomfortable physically, but it's very comforting and familiar. I can feel the confusion starting to lift as bits of my life come back to me.
"Listen to me, Richard," Linda says gravely in another woman's voice.
Great... Just when things are starting to make sense again.
"Don't react," she says calmly. "Don't let on to the doctor that you can hear me. Just act like nothing is out of the ordinary."
Sure, and after that maybe I'll levitate off my bed and recite Pi to 1200 places. Nothing could be easier.
"I know it's tough, Richard," the strange voice coming from my wife says, while she straightens the bed sheets over me. Her eyes do not betray any hint of this conversation.
"Okay," I say, trying to look comfortable.
"Don't say anything," she whispers quickly. "I know it seems like I'm talking to you through someone, but that's only in your mind."
Only in my mind. Fantastic. I'm going crazy.
"Your not crazy, Richard," the woman's voice reassures me.
Okay, that's kind of freaky. Did she just read my thoughts?
"I can hear some of what you're thinking," she confirms. "But it's only the more simple thoughts right now. As we figure this out more, it should become easier for you."
What the hell is going on?
Just then, the doctor looks up from his notes. "If you're feeling fine right now, Mr. Menda, I will go ahead and take my leave. The nurse will be in to check on you periodically."
I blink at him for a few seconds, having completely forgotten he was even in the room. "Oh, yeah," I mumble.
"We'll probably keep you overnight for observation, but you should be able to go home tomorrow," he explains.
"Oh, okay," I say dumbly.
"Thank you so much, doctor," my wife says in her own voice.
I glance at her suspiciously. She returns my look with a loving smile.
"My pleasure," the doctor says, standing and hurrying out of the room.
Linda gazes down at me and runs her fingers through my hair gently. "Okay, now listen closely," she says in the other woman's voice.
"Do you really have to do that? It totally freaks me out," I snap.
Linda freezes and drops her hand back to her side. "I'm sorry, honey, I'm just trying to comfort you," she says in her own, hurt voice.
"Apologize to her," the other woman's voice says.
Jesus, this is confusing. "I'm sorry, babe. I don't know why I said that. Must've bumped my head pretty bad."
"It's okay," Linda nods, patting my hand.
"I'm sorry about how uncomfortable this is, Richard," the other woman says through my wife's freakishly moving lips. "It's the only way I can talk to you without raising suspicion. Well, that and I can't really figure out another way. If you just act naturally, I will try to explain."
I lay back and try to look comfortable...and comforted.
"My name is Loretta Vine," the woman's voice says. "I was once the assistant of a Doctor Hans Spector, a medical researcher employed by a U.S. government agency. You and I are currently undergoing experimental rehabilitation treatment. Nothing that you currently see around you is really happening. It is all a fabrication generated by a computer that is directly stimulating nerve cells in your brain.
"Richard," she sighs apologetically, "they've erased our memories and are trying to program us with new ones. They're trying to give us new lives against our wills."
I lay there in stunned silence. Slowly, I begin to realize that something doesn't quite make sense with her story. If her memory was erased as well, then how is she here explaining all this to me?
"I know you're confused," Loretta's voice says. "It's quiet in here, want to watch TV?"
"Huh?" I can't help but ask.
My wife repeats, "Want to watch TV? It's just so quiet."
"Oh," I nod. "Sure."
"You feeling alright, baby?" she asks.
"Yeah, just tired," I reply. Tired and utterly perplexed.
She picks up the remote. "TV will help. Maybe you'll fall asleep to it," she suggests.
"Maybe," I agree, managing a smile.
"I know your confused, Richard," Loretta's voice repeats as my wife turns on the television and begins to channel surf.
Damn straight...
"I'm trying to hack my way into other parts of the system so that we can make this a little easier or maybe even get out of here," Loretta tells me.
"The truth is," she continues, "I'm not really even sure how I've managed to get to where I am, but somebody must have really overlooked my readouts. It's too late now. I've set it up so that everything will look normal for a while. I'll need to go soon so I can shore it up a little better though."
How do I even know any of this is real?
"It's real, Richard," Loretta answers my unspoken question. "You know it's real, deep down inside. Just keep acting natural, no matter what happens. If something seems out of the ordinary, it is your brain trying to reject the programming and remember its true life. If you react too much to it, it will set off alarms in the monitoring program, which will increase the amount of medication flowing into you and cause the program to refocus its attention on the part of your brain that's rebelling. If it gets too bad, Dr. Spector and his team will go in manually to reset the project. I'm not sure how I'll get to you again if that happens."
Chills shoot up and down my spine. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck bristles. I really don't like the sound of that last part.
***
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