Just what the *#&&@^ is a Liberal, anyways? Part 1

Plane trips always remind me of that scene in Fight Club. Not the one where Edward Norton imagines the plane’s wall ripped off and passengers dissapering into the sky, attached to their seats and screaming because they never paid attention to the flight attendant and, after over 200 air trips still have no idea how the oxygen mask works or where their floatation device is. (Although, I can absolutely relate, sicne I have no idea how either of those things work.)
The scene that always strikes me most about that movie (and, incidentally, I take that film with me on every plane trip, I secretly hope that the person sitting next to me will be freaked out when the crash scene comes on or, at least, embarrassed by Helena Bonham Carter’s sex scene, ah……Helen, best looking monkey in Planet of the Apes) is the description of the single serving friend. And while the film is post modern enough to comment on the “cleverness” of this concept, that doesn’t mean that it’s wrong.
And I’ve tried to transform my single serving friends to more, I really have.
There was that guy who was gonna kill himself unless he found God or, at least, a cure for whatever his ailment was (It wasn’t cancer but it was something bad). I gave him my email and he promised to write me with an update…..maybe he died.
Or the owner of that toy company who was supposed to have steaks with me in a Minneapolis Morton’s but, instead, came to visit me in the hospital when the ride I gave him turned out to be the first stop of the night for me, last stop, Hennepin County Medical Center’s Emergency Room. Funny how much attention you get when you are 31 and having a heart attack.
Or the Flight Attendent who asked me for my phone number after some casual flirting by the first class bathroom. The oversized, trenchcoat wearing thumb that cornered my in the gangway and introduced himself as her fiancé might have been the reason she never called, though.
So, I never expect anything more than “single serving” friends when I travel.
But I also don’t expect to be called “evil” and “stupid” by seemingly kindly 80-somethings who start out the conversation talking about the joys of grandfatherhood.
“You’re a liberal. I could tell as soon as you said you lived in Los Angeles.”
This is true. I do live in Los Angeles. When Methuselah (I never asked his name. Although later I wiould overhear him refer to himself as “John” I chose not to even go beyond nameless autonomies, after all, being called “evil” doesn’t call for pleasantries, I believe) asked me where I lived, I told him. Why should I lie? I’m proud of my home. I love Los Angeles. I hate the drivers, but I’m from New Jersey, I’ve been hating drivers since I was a tot.
And, although I am a “liberal” I never said I was. So, what led to Methuselah’s indignant putdown?
Seems our friend is proud to talk about how he has known George W. Bush for many years. Although I believe that he doesn’t really “Know” him but has met him on a number of occasions and, maybe, shaken his hand. The more I listen to John and the more time I have had to reflect on our conversation, the more I belive that he may have shaken W’s hand at some rally and, thereby, thinks he “knows” him.
But, he isn’t too happy with the way things have been going of late. At this writing, (I began the first draft of this post in early March) the Bush administration has just announced that they are going to allow operation of a number of US ports by a company based in the United Arab Emirates.
John isn’t angry about this. He is angry that the administration has handled its PR so poorly.
It is at this point that I realize that John is a dinosaur.
Now, I don’t mean this in any metaphorical term. I mean that his hands caress his Ginger Ale and I am struck by, first, the size. These are mammoth hands he has, but age has done something to John’s mitts. The skin has withdrawn and pulled itself back on to the bone. Veins have risen to the surface thick and blue. And the fingers come to a very precise point. The nails, manicured, are dense and sharp and it is from all this, including the way the thumbs have moved downward so they are even more parallel to the rest of his had and set back further than normal that they almost seem like they are no longer opposable, that I momentarily am reminded of the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.
It could also be that John has just called me a “Liberal” in that way that people from Texas have of doing so that almost always make you wonder if they are insulting you with their shit eating grin. That smile that all at once says, “you are pathetic, but I will tolerate your ignorance because I am sitting next to you and I can’t wait to say what I have to say because I am so much smarter than you and I have been taught precisely how to answer your evil accusations but I will because I am patient and the longer you talk the deeper the hole you are digging is getting……”.
“I mean, “ John continues, at this point I forget that he is a dinosaur and I am drawn back into the conversation, “at least he seems like a President, though. I mean it’s been a long time since we have had someone in that office that, at least, seems presidential.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” I start, and that is the last moment that John and I spent as friends.
“Who? Clinton? You like Clinton? I could tell you would like Clinton. I could tell you were a liberal the minute you said you were from Los Angeles.”
I have no idea when I became evil. I wondered for a moment if it was when John discovered that I was from that Coast-of-iniquity but it really felt like it cemented with the Clinton comment. And I had yet to even invoke the terrible “C” word. (Not the word you are thinking of, but somehow the “L” word is just as bad)
“Well, I don’t know I liked some of the things he did….”
Tread carefully, young Jedi, you are still over Texas airspace…..
“Like what? Like soiling the Oval Office? Is that the kind of message you want to send children? That that kind of behaviour with that Lewinsky girl is “presidential”?”
Now, I wish I could say that I didn’t immediately go into a tirade about how the small government loving GOP has more employees that any other government in our history, or that our deficit is higher than it ever was or that Gore Vidal called a war on terror akin to a “war on dandruff”, but all that stuff came out.
But, hey, isn’t that the best part of politics? Two sides, raising the ire of the other?
“You’re a liberal.”
The words hung there like I had just been called a Nigger. A Kike. A Wop. A Spic. A Cunt. A Fag. And the one hurling the epithet had gotten away with it because he was somehow protected by a veil of acceptability. “Liberal” is the curse word you can get away with nowadays. And it sucks.
I don’t care about words. I, personally, believe that the power of the word is dependent on those who hear it, not the one tossing it. It’s not “like a punch in the stomach”. A punch in the stomach is like a punch in the stomach. A verbal putdown is just words in the ether. You care about them or you don’t but the one who has the power behind the word is not the thrower. It’s the catcher.
So, what do I care that some Octogenarian whose best days are behind him and is on his way to Seattle (boy, talk about a liberal town, good luck, man) to live with his son’s family and be a grandpa, calls me the “L” word?
Because of the very next thing I asked him:
“What does that mean? Why is a “liberal” a bad thing? What is the definition of a “Liberal”?
Remember at this point I have owned up to absolutely nothing except that I live in Los Angeles. It is later that I rant.
“You know. You people don’t see the big picture. You focus on the small thing.”
You People……..
“But you still haven’t answered my question. What does the word Liberal mean?”
“What does it mean to you?”
And this is the best part. When they answer my question with a question as though that’s really an answer. It isn’t. It’s just a way to feel smug about one’s self without being the least bit culpable or responsible for the answer. It’s the way dumb people feel smart. And let’s not forget, the most dangerous person in the world is a dumb person who thinks he or she is smart. Don’t agree? Marry one. I’d rather have cancer.
“I always thought that being a “liberal” meant that one is accepting of one’s differences and that one is open minded and that as long as what you do isn’t against the law and doesn’t hurt anybody than it’s okie doke.”
And, that’s sort of how I feel. I realize that that is probably more libertarian than liberal but, isn’t it kind of the truth?
And the six million year old man just stares at the wall in front of us and smiles. But he doesn’t answer.
“So, what is a liberal?”
I could bore you with all the details of what he said in response to this but I won’t. A, because it would bore me more than it would you and, trust me, I really don’t mind boring you. And B, because he never once answered the question. There was a lot of stuff about being in a war. About protecting our interests. And more stuff about jewish girl’s vaginas and cigars. But he never answered the question.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What is your question?”
“What is a liberal? Also, why is such a bad thing to be?”
“I answered you. We will just have to agree to disagree and I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
And that was that.
The velociraptor closed his eyes, sipped his ginger ale and never said another word to me…….