Ouch. That's Hot.

In a self-less act of self-denial of the cynical self, and in an effort to cultivate the warm little garden of love a-bloomin’ in my heart, I will not offer any of the disclaimers that I (as a former English major who is capable of reading and enjoying David Foster Wallace and who would otherwise be judged “Totally Awesome” by a jury of his well-read peers) really wants to drop right about now.

The bottom line is that this book tells a good tale (a bonafied true story!) about a homeless black guy and rich white guy who become best friends through the pluck and persistance of the latter’s freakin’ angelic wife.  The story is remarkable, and it has left a real mark on the city of Ft. Worth, TX.  I’m not saying that it’s for everyone, but anyone who ever laid a claim to a hope in The Lawd could use this book as quick test of the state of their soul.  (I know mine could use some work.)

Now this is getting exciting.  For the second time this week, I’ve been able to blog about a book by an I author I know.  Heck, the way I’m networking up the ranks of the media elite, I’d expect Danielle Steel & Rupert Murdoch to be ringing me up soon.

Up for discussion is Jeremiah (Kingtycoon) Methuseleh’s Raindrinker – The Murder’s March. (Buy yours today!)  And I’m impressed.

I’m not just impressed in the way that you’re impressed by your buddy’s band ’cause you figured they’d really suck, but you went to the show to be nice and were surprised that they could actually all play their instruments together at the same time.

No, I’m impressed by the world that the formidable Kingtycoon has created.  I’m impressed by the completeness of the vision.  I’m impressed by the writing, the agility of the language, the craftwork, the book.  I started it out of personal curiosity, but finished it out of fascination.

To be honest, I’m really not a big fantasy guy.  Tolkien is still on my “To Read” list, and I know I’ll never get around to Robert Jordan no matter how many of my friends are devotees.   But this book is also a book of ideas.  Up for discussion are concepts of The Self , Identity, Duty, the Divine.

It’s fertile soul, well-seeded, and ready to sprout the already planned next 21 volumes to complete the story.  Ah, ambition!!  It is a beautiful thing!!

I recently had the pleasure of enjoying Dr. Johnson’s accessible yet thorough summation of the upper-left coast’s passionate political dalliance with Marx and his recounting of some very earnest sparks struck in hopes of lighting up a revolution.  Unfortunately, it’s a little soggy up in that corner of the country.

But it’s the numbers that really got me.  Back a turn of a century or two ago in the rough-n-ready Pacific Northwest, Eugene Debs was able to pull one vote for every ten that went to the ever-heroic, big-game-huntin’, horseback-riddin’, Teddy Roosevelt.

That One-in-Ten/Republican-to-Socialist ratio translates to state vote tallies in the low thousands, not the hundreds-of-thousands like you’d have to win today.  In other words, back then you could start spinning national policy with a vote count that would barely qualify you as a mega-church pastor.  I guess a little charisma once went a long way.

Furthermore, the  Socialist Party was able to achieve this while preaching a red-scary philosophy that would have made Dennis Kucinich look like flip-floppin’, middle-of-the-roadin’, convictionless tool of the vast right-wing conspiracy.

Of all of this, I can conclude only one thing:  These were different times.

Today, candidates run focus-group led campaigns to swing the swing vote a percentage point or two in their favor.  Today, we have two parties that differ more in theory than practice.  (Bush cut taxes for most of us while funding a little make-work program called The War On Terror, Obama pledges to cut taxes for most of us while stimulating us to make some work.)

I suppose it’s nice to have the stability.  But how long can it last?   I would guess that the gap between the poor and the rich, between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie, is a greater thing now than it was in a Washington State mining town in 1900.  I would also guess that these terms probably don’t translate very well to the average South Dakotan on the job in one of the Call Centers that seem to be holding on just fine despite the recession.

I might even have to admit that compared to the kid in Cambodia that helped Old Navy sow my fancy new t-shirt, that I’m the King Of The Hill with my boot on the necks of the rest of the world.

It’s all somewhere in the numbers.

Outside of soft spot for Woody Guthrie and Billy Bragg, I’m no fan of last century’s revolutionaries, but I have to admit it would have been kicks to hear some of the banter bouncing around the room.  Now we’ve got bigger numbers.  We might need some bigger ideas.