When I was on foot through a parking lot, heading towards my temp job, I saw bumper sticker. It said, “one nation under God.” I just wanted to scratch a little letter “s” on the tail end of that, just to reflect my current beliefs.
About an hour north of Austin, there’s Ft. Hood. Huge military installation. About an hour south of Austin, there’s San Antonio, with something like five military establishments. 600 or more miles to the west, there’s El Paso’s Ft. Bliss. For that matter, the Austin airport is a retired military field. Taxiing in and out, there are still bunkers of some kind visible.
I was chatting with a friend after her reading the other evening. She served as a journalist in “Gulf War I: the prequel.”
She works for a middle-of-the road state representative these days.
“They [Iraq> have arms. They tried to gas us with anthrax or something several times. They [Iraq> just didn’t have a method of delivery.
“When I came home, I had this rash for several months, I’m pretty sure it was anthrax or something.”
My memories go back to the close of the Viet Nam War. I recall the hideous response by the public, the torrid backlash that the warriors suffered.
That’s my biggest fear, now.
I missed my early morning bus, and I found that I had to walk an extra few blocks, which, as luck would have it, included a slight detour through a familiar coffee spot. There was a barista working whom I didn’t recognize. We chatted for a moment, I asked her birthday, and I allowed as how that Taurus guy in the afternoon does just about the best, or maybe the Virgo.
“You haven’t had one of my cappuccinos yet.”
Scorpio. I was betting on that, due to what I know about appearances, but she was right. It was the perfect balance of steamed milk and the coffee was done just right.
Best one I’ve had in a long, long time. Which didn’t exactly set the tone for the day, but it helped some.
Missed my usual buds at work. Right before I walked out to catch a bus homeward, my little Pisces called me to let me know that there was some kind of a demonstration at the Capital, and my bus would be delayed.
So two blocks from the State Capital, the bus rolled to a stop, and I hopped off, not wanting to wait an hour to go four more blocks. With my long hair and sandals, I’m sure I looked like an aging relic from a bygone generation, like, maybe some of the protestors thought I was of their parents’ vintage. Or that I was with them all the way.
Many people smiled at me although I was heading the other direction. The only ones not smiling at me were Austin cops, and they were bunched up like little gang members, huddled together for safety, massively outnumbered.
As Americans, we all have a right to gather and express our opinions. I’m still a little in quandary as to why I saw so many posters that implied [Pres.> Bush was a doo-doo head. What that has to do with the Texas State Capital is beyond me – it’s not like he’s coming back here. I’m failing to see the connection. But – at the very least – as Americans we have earned a right to say such things.
What did bother me, and even though in my personal – very uninformed – opinion suggests that maybe some of the posters were true, what worried me the most, was what happens when a protester violates the rights of a uniformed public servant?
If you’re American, or British, or Australian, you have a right to let your voice be heard. Do it. Write your government representative. Better yet, next time around? Vote.
A young Latina woman was jogging through downtown, paused at a stoplight, encountered some guy from her office, and in an exchange, she said, “Yeah, I told them, ‘to get haircut and get a job.'” Then she laughed.
If that’s the attitude, though, then she should be in the kitchen, not out running to keep herself thin and trim. Bad attitude, but nice purple spandex.
For it? Hardly. I find open combat distasteful and probably a bad idea. But against it? If you’re driving an SUV, especially one made in a foreign country, I sure hope you’re not toting around some “No War For Oil” signs.
Looks like the Arctic Refuge is safe again, for a little while. Too bad some of the richest oil fields in the world are being put to the torch, even as I type this.
I’m all for voicing an opinion, but beware, there are some ironies that seem lost. Like a cell phone? A car that gets less than 50 miles per gallon of fuel? Preferring a car to a bicycle, or better yet, feet? Or, at the very least, mass transit, especially if it’s like the local – clean burning – buses?
Even better, and I could hear helicopters most of the night, there were two or three planes towing banners before dusk. At least one of them had a moral message. But one of the other planes? It was advertising a restaurant chain named after a certain member of the avian set, but the name clearly implies a portion of the female anatomy.
This is one stirred up hornet’s nest, that’s for sure. After seeing advertising at a peace demonstration, the good guys, the boys in blue, looking a little nervous, I had to wonder, is critical thinking that foreign? Or, for that matter, why would anyone in his right mind want to taunt such a crazed population?
What’s worse, this was an effort to order my thoughts. I’m more confused than ever.
