I’ve been back from Iowa for 2 weeks now. I thought that it would be wise to reminisce a bit.
Well, the yearly trek is finished. It isn’t “fun” to go there, but it isn’t supposed to be. It is, though, an interesting experience that I’m glad to have every year. I always learn something profound there, which never happens at those expensive and frivolous amusement parks.
The drive to and fro Iowa always inspires curiosity. The roadscape is dotted with old and abandoned farmhouses that you know were the site of epic struggles and joys. It always makes me wonder to see them. Who lived in those old buildings and how? What was it like to be them?
To live in a world without television, the internet, or even radio just seems unfathomable to me. It would be another planet. Who would I be without such things? I would be another person, alien and incomprehensible to me as I exist now.
I like to imagine that were I born an American in the 1800’s that I would be what they called then an upstanding citizen. Perhaps I would have been a journalist or a businessman. But who knows, really?
The site of those old, empty buildings also fills me with regret, as it is yet another obvious acknowledgment of how we’ve lost our way. The farmers that built and ran those farms are arguably the most important people that ever lived, as it was they that grew perhaps the majority of the world’s food in the twentieth century. The population explosion of the last 100 years would not have happened without them. Billions of people today owe their lives to the food that those farmers spent their lives producing- and yet their houses and silos just sit there, empty, unloved, dilapidated, and collapsing. It seems like such a great historical tragedy. It is unfortunate that the America of today seems to value most what is worth the least.
Over the weekend in Iowa, I spent a few hours just being in my Grandmother’s basement and wondering about the interesting things she’s collected over the generations. It was fascinating. My grandmother is 93 years old now, and she’s been collecting things her whole life.
In her basement is a trove of old consumer products from the postwar era, most of which is in immaculate condition but forgotten about by all but her. There are old and unusual televisions and vacuum cleaners from long forgotten brands. I’ve never seen anything like them. There are suitcases from the fifties down there, cleaned off and ready to go in case they’re ever needed again, and behind those are coffee cans from the forties that hold even older odds and ends that my grandparents collected in their youth. Ancient makeup kits, toys, spare parts for things thrown away generations ago, wooden screwdrivers and odd hardware kits that didn’t have a place in my late Grandfather’s workshop- it’s all there along with some truly unusual things that not even I can place.
On some of these things there are price tags. It’s a revelation to see a sale price of five cents on something. Wow.
A small shelf next to her freezer had all the old toys I used to play with in Iowa when I was a kid. The plastic squirt guns looked so small but I’ll bet they still worked. The water balloons wouldn’t, though. They had hardened and turned brittle.
In an old iron box I found some of my late Grandfather’s personal effects, like his Driver’s License from the fifties and the little gold bits he found on the ground in Alaska when he worked on the Alaskan highway. In an envelope, I found his first Social Security card wrapped in a US government issued pamphlet from the FDR administration, who apparently used cartoon characters to explain in layman’s terms what Social Security actually was and how it would work in practice. Another envelope contained his first life insurance policy (one thousand dollars!) and had one of his diaries. I was greedy and I read it. Nobody else ever will, so I might as well keep his memories alive, if only for as long as I remember them.
My late grandfather’s workshop was untouched. His old tools were just as he left them, laid out and ready for use.
I looked them over. All of it was so, so old. Even the kleenex box was from the eighties.
On the wall of his workshop were signs of the kind that lower-middle class people used to use during the holidays. There were wooden “Happy Easter!” posters with big, chunky incandescent lights and “Merry Christmas!” posters with Rockwellesque Santa Clauses.
Underneath the creaking stairs was a small bookcase with very old, yet surprisingly unyellowed cook books. They were in strikingly good condition. I have paperbacks only a decade old that are falling apart, yet my Grandmother’s ancient Better Homes and Gardens cook books are still readable. Not sure why. Maybe they made books to last longer in those days. The paper seemed to be of high quality.
Which is the average of everything down there. Yes, it is all old. But- in my Grandparents’ defense- it all works. As far as I could tell, everything down in the basement was still in good working order, including the electronics. It was all American made, and pre-diversity at that. It was good, quality stuff.
I suppose that being a man, I’ll inherit some of the old tools down there one day. Good.
Across from my bed in the upstairs, underneath my Great Grandparents’ framed marriage certificate, there is a bookcase filled with old hardcover books. There’s a little of everything in there; I saw old novels, Time-Life books, comic strip collections, puzzle books, Dave Barry books, and huge, hundred year old Catholic tomes that I assume were from my Great Grandparents.
I didn’t want to read through the old books on account of my allergies. I did, though, leaf through the Catholic tomes out of curiosity.
They’re amazing. You can’t find anything like them, even on eBay. They are huge compendiums of Catholic lore and philosophy forgotten to all except for cloistered scholars and the Vatican.
It’s not hard to be impressed with them and the knowledge carefully organized within them. The Catholic religion gets much flak these days, even from those raised firmly within the church, such as myself. But looking at those old tomes is an eye opener. They’re thousands of pages big and filled with interesting myths and extensions to the Catholic bible, and all of it is accompanied with masterful and reverent illustrations.
The confidence in these old books about the greatness and supremacy of Catholicism is astounding. One can see plainly see how the Church became the world’s most powerful after reviewing those archives. They make me pine for more knowledge about Catholicism’s uniquely great history.
Next to the Catholic tomes was a compendium of illustrator and historian Eric Sloane’s work. It was simply and aptly titled Eric Sloane’s America. This was from the eighties, so I read it.
It was awesome. Food for the brain for a middle aged conservative like me.
Eric Sloane’s America is about the old United States and how people lived. It explained how the pre- Federal Reserve economy functioned, back when most people had literally no money, as in when, yes, they had 0 cents to their name. It explained how the first bridges and barns were built- how they were engineered and tested, how the perfect type of wood was chosen for each piece for the different types of bridges and houses, and how the pieces were all fit together without machines and computers.
It’s complex and impressive stuff you never think about. Could I build an enormous wooden bridge by hand, without any electrical technology, and have it stand for 100 years? Nope.
It also explained the environment of the old US, such what the first settlers, like my ancestors, saw when they reached the Mid West. In general, the book filled in some of gaps of my knowledge about early America, and gave me some surprises, too. I didn’t know that intricate pagan sigils and runes were built into some of the old barns and early houses. Perhaps early Americans weren’t the fundamentalist Christians we’ve been told they were.
All interesting stuff.
I did more than merely read and reminisce there, of course. It was nice to re-connect with my family. We rarely get the chance to see each other since we all live so far apart. As usual, everything was fine. Everyone is doing well and all the kids are above average. Of course.
The rest of this topic is personal. I’ll leave it at that.
While I’m remembering, something a bit interesting happened in a Subway in Iowa. As I walked in with my dad, I noticed a poster of Elle Fanning on the wall. Apparently, Subway is promoting Maleficent. As I sat down to eat, I noticed that a couple underneath the poster were talking about the movie.
As is usual in these situations, I eavesdropped as I conversed with my father. The couple, a middle aged man and his younger female companion (a daughter, maybe, although the age difference between them wasn’t great) were eagerly awaiting the film. They both liked the previews and seemed to like Elle and Angelina. They planned on seeing it in the theater. I’ll bet they contributed to the film’s huge first weekend haul.
Overhearing conversations like these are always interesting. Because I hide what I do, I never get to hear about Elle Fanning from someone that isn’t named Elle Fanning. I’ve learned quite a bit about how others view my girlfriends from eavesdropping, both out in public and at work.
In this case, I’ve heard only encouraging things. Good. I’ve molded Elle well as far as Hollywood goes.
The conversation the couple had about Angelina brought back memories. She was my first Hollywood crush. I was 16 when I caught Foxfire on one of the those free weekends that HBO used to give cable subscribers, and I haven’t been the same since.
I recorded the movie when it was on, and oh my God, did I watch it and rewatch it. She was the personification of everything I thought women should be. She was super hot, yes, but also strong and street smart. She inspired me and I idolized her.
It was after I rented Hackers at the local drug store that I vowed to convince the world of her greatness. I started up a geocities shrine for her and proselytized her to anyone who would listen.
The site wasn’t much to look at even then, but it had it’s charms. Is was funny and had personality, and, of course, nude pics, which set my site apart from the other two Angelina sites, which were so lame and conformist and embarrassed to show her nude scenes.
I didn’t see anything embarrassing about them. I was an awkward and insecure teenager and I thought that she was inspiring to be so confident about her body. I didn’t care. I, ahem, borrowed nude scans and vidcaps from artists like Big Daddy, D-Man, and Scorpion Caps and posted them in a nude section. Sure, the pics were pixelated and tiny, but they were there and I was proud of them. Later I downloaded videos of her nude scenes from Dailyvid and DailyMPEG and put them in there too. That was brutal. A 3 megabyte video was a trial to post online back then.
I wonder why it is that she’s fallen so far out of favor with me. Perhaps she reminds me too much of my youth. High school wasn’t fun. Or is it her liberal politics, perhaps? Can’t be… maybe I just naturally moved on.
I don’t know and I’m digressing anyways.
The point of this story is really that I’m not able to escape my girlfriends. Even in small Iowan towns they will be there, waiting for me to show up. I’d better get used to that, I guess.
Before I end this essay, I’ll finish with one other thing that struck me about the trip, which was the generally upbeat mood of the rural Illinoisans I encountered on the road. I made sure to check their moods, and they seemed happy.
This might not seem so important, but a Gallup poll was recently published that said that of all of the states, Illinois had the most people who hated where they lived. Fully 50% of the people in Illinois surveyed said that they didn’t want to live in Illinois.
As a native Illinoisan, I know why this is, of course. There are two major reasons for this. The first is the corruption. My political suspicions were correct- the people in rural Illinois are not unhappy with their friends and neighbors, they’re unhappy because of the immense political corruption that surrounds their lives and suffocates them. Illinois is by far the most corrupt state in the union.
Illinois is the troubled birthplace of sociopathic political cronyist kingpins like Paul Ryan, Blagojevich, the Daley family, Rahm Emanuel, and Barack Obama. Politics here is unimaginably criminal and horrid.
With people like those I just listed running politics here, it’s no wonder that so many are unhappy with their circumstances.
Which again makes me wonder how it’s possible for Hollywood types to continue to rub shoulders with (shudder) the Obamas. Ick. Why can they not see what is so obvious to everyone else?
During Obama’s re-election campaign, tales abounded of the Democratic party using standard issue Illinois election “tactics” (i.e. voter fraud) on a national scale. People on the Internet still talk about thugs standing outside of voting places to ensure “security” and electronic voting machines returning impossible to believe results, and of Somalians bussed in to add some “diversity” to key swing states.
All of this is stuff that we Illinoisans are used to and expect, but have come as a terrible shock to the rest of the nation. Talk of this massive voter fraud is one of the unspoken reasons for Obama’s plummeting approval rating. As word gets around of what really happened during the last election cycle, he and his party just looks worse and worse, especially since the Democrats were elected in 2008 at least partially as a response to the voter fraud that the Bushes used to get elected in 2000 and 2004. Obama was supposed to put the kibosh on that stuff, but all he did once elected was take the existing corrupt infrastructure, put his own brand on it, and expand it into new areas. Typical Chicago politics. Of course.
Well, all of this behavior is blatantly sociopathic and criminal and of course makes Hollywood look like a den of accomplices to those on the outside. Natch.
I’m still, still, wondering WTF is going on in Hollywood’s head regarding the Obamas. Honestly, I’ve basically given up trying to find a logical reason for their support of this guy. I mean, what are they THINKING? Beats me. Perhaps my Hollywood friends are a little too open-minded, which can happen with creative types.
Hollywood and liberal types in general make it a point to be open minded and tolerant, which is fine and admirable to an extent. Being open minded affords you new experiences and perspectives, which is necessary for a performer. Being able to put oneself in another’s shoes is the name of the game for a professional actor.
Open-mindedness taken too far, though, can have terrible consequences. You can leave yourself open to be victimized by sweet talking sociopaths, which could explain H-Wood’s continuing exaltation of the legendarily super-corrupt Chicago Democratic party machine.
It is unfortunate. It really is. They’ve cast their lot, though, and tied their fates to the wrong people. It was their choice and they are adults. Let them deal with the consequences.
I think that my personal takeaway from the Obama situation is this: I’m happy with my life as it is. I like being who I am and I wouldn’t trade a stay in Iowa for a dinner in the White House any day. Nope.
And while I’m blogging- the other obvious problem in Illinois is an excess of diversity. In the areas around Chicago, there are huge numbers of “minorities”, especially from Mexico. As can be imagined, racial animosity abounds.
The whites here don’t want anything to do with blacks or Mexicans outside of work environments, and the blacks and Mexicans don’t much like whites, either, and most especially conservative whites like me, who scare them.
I get a lot of stares when I go out to the local mega mall. The Mexican thugs that live here are clearly intimidated by me; you can see it in their eyes when I look at them. From what I’ve seen from their reactions and heard from them when they talk about me, if I were a white man who tried to look like them- bald, tan, tattooed up and with loose athletic clothing, they wouldn’t give me a second look.
I’m not that, though. I’m taller than them, light skinned, very blond, and an obvious conservative. My clothes are aggressively middle class, I’m scarily fluent in English, I’ve no tattoos anywhere, and my hair is done up with a Clark Kent style part on the side.
The Mexicans go out of their way to avoid me and look at the floor as I walk past. The young ones skitter to the side if I even get close to them. I must be *gasp* a Republican! Who knows what I’m capable of!
Other minority types- Asians and Islanders- can also react in the same way. They sometimes brace themselves when they see me like they’ve never seen anyone like me in person and don’t know what to do. Who knows, maybe they haven’t seen anyone like me in person, ever.
And I get this from blacks, as well. I don’t buy for a minute the myth that blacks aren’t afraid of bourgeois whites. Some aren’t, of course, but many still are, especially the poorer ones. Again- you can see it in their eyes.
Vice-versa, there are neighborhoods here that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Of course.
This is what you get with excess diversity. Fear, distrust, and nervous stares wherever you go.
I never get those stares in small town Iowa.
Remind me again- why do I live here?
Oh yeah. The job.
Maybe one day…