Rant Mojo

March 1, 2010

Rant Mojo

I haven’t ranted in awhile so I thought I’d see this month if my rant mojo is still working.

I don’t like tea. Black tea gives my stomach the whims, and herbal teas have always made me think of weeds steeped in hot water. Now and then at a Chinese restaurant I’ll drink green tea and that goes down okay. But I find it about as enjoyable as eating a turnip.

The Brits enjoy high tea late in the afternoon, complete with biscuits (cookies) and sandwiches, although that’s mostly just to tide them over until their evening meal at seven or eight o’clock. My wife and I enjoy a cup of coffee around four or five o’clock, a nice caffeine bump to get us through the evening’s activities.

So, to boldly go where no non sequitor has gone before, I’m not fond of tea parties.

Nor am I fond of the Tea Party, that curious amalgam of grumpy Americans who seem to think that that government is best which is non-existent. I wonder how many folks in Somalia would agree with that.

The Tea Party Patriots (as they call themselves) like to read Ayn Rand without realizing she’s something you leave behind with your adolescence, kind of like vampire movies or hanging out. They think children should be home-schooled, though I’ve often wondered if that includes college. I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable with a home-schooled surgeon.

The Tea Party Patriots (as they call themselves) believe, too, not only that the Bible comes directly from God’s keyboard, but that the Constitution, The Declaration of Independence, and probably even The Federalist Papers do as well. Thus, to suggest that those documents might be guidelines as opposed to holy writ is to earn the most reviled of epithets: What are you? A liberal?

The Tea Party Patriots (as they call themselves) seem to think that in the worst recession in memory it would be better if the government ignored it and just let the private sector (Lehman Brothers, AIG, Merrill Lynch, Bank of America) work things out.

They are energized, of course, by the possibility of health care reform. They don’t want government rationing your health care, preferring instead to let your insurance company tell you if they’ll take you on as a customer and, if they do, what sort of treatments you can or cannot have.

I also find it amusing that, as they scream out their protests that increasing deficits are saddling our young people with oppressive debt, they are also against the government implementing cap and trade agreements that would limit the amount of carbon emissions polluting our world. So I guess the ideal then involves creating a world for our kids where their tax burdens are low but their difficulties in breathing are high.

So, yes, I’m indulging myself in an Ann Coulter moment which was largely brought on the other night when I heard the Queen of the Tea Party, Sarah Palin, speak at their convention and cringed when she pronounced “drowning” as “drownding.” It didn’t help, either, that she’d written crib notes on the palm of her hand.

But what really brings out the Coulter in me are all the references to the Tea Party Patriots as being just plain folks who’ve taken to the streets to protest the intrusiveness of government. Yes, yes we all saw that misguided soul who stood up at a meeting and told a congressman to “keep your government hands off my Medicare,” and we’ve all seen those soccer moms holding up their no more taxes signs. But a populist movement? A people’s protest? Hold on there, Longshanks. I tend to be pretty wary whenever anyone purports to speak for the people, since I’m a people and I can do pretty well speaking for myself.

You might be surprised to find out just which people the Tea Party Patriots (as they like to call themselves) are speaking for.

According to The Washington Post, this Tea Party is receiving moral and financial support from corporations like MetLife, Philip Morris, and "foundations controlled by the archconservative Scaife family" while they enjoy lobster dinners at their convention. That convention, by the way, was sponsored by a private for-profit (of course!) company that charged the conventioneers over $500 to attend, not to mention travel and hotel fees.

Keep your hands off my health insurance! You think MetLife and Blue Cross and Aetna don’t react with glee to that notion? Keep your oppressive regulations out of the financial sector! You think Wall Street doesn’t think that’s a very fine notion, indeed? They’ve also received support, according to The Washington Post, from Philip Morris. That alone is enough to make any liberal long for a return to marijuana. Don’t think of Tea Party. Think of Tea Puppets.

As a final note, I find myself resenting their co-opting the Boston Tea Party as some sort of fitting protest against the Obama administration. The Boston Tea Party, after all, was a protest against the tendency of the Brits to indiscriminately shoot, beat, steal from, and imprison American colonists. It makes me think the day is not that far off when they’ll use the 9/11 tragedy to protest the price of airline tickets.

Since that last sentence is well over the top, I will take it as proof that my rant mojo is still working. Thanks for listening. I feel better now.

G. K. Wuori © 2010
Photoillustration by the author


Selected Works

Novella
A young woman's morning walk through her small town finds her immersed in a small tragedy, an indifferent government, and the "science gone mad" of her best friend's husband. Quirky, goofy, nutty - yes, but a gentle look as well at some of the values that keep us from falling off the planet
Essay
A hint of generally true autobiography, this piece is part of Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill's "How I Became A Writer" series.
Novel
Ellen DeLay, an upstanding citizen of Quillifarkeag, Maine, suddenly and unpredictably leaves her happy, twenty-five year marriage for a lonely cabin deep in the Maine woods, where she makes a living dressing hunters' kill - bears, moose, deer. It seems an idyllic life, punctuated only now and then by rifle fire as she shoots into the air to scare off cheeky teens who come to taunt "the crazy woman."
Stories
Quillifarkeag is a state of mind, one marked by innocence and regret, by guile and sympathy. The people there will let you into their lives - but not very far. Go too far inside and things start to echo, people get close. Honesty becomes negotiable. Bare all and someone might still say, "Were you naked or nude?" It's an important distinction. In a small place like Quilli the naked truth is hurtful. The nude truth is not so bad.

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