A Spectre is Haunting America and that Spectre Is Sanity

I suppose the reason I'm annoyed at the upcoming Rally to Restore Sanity is a comment I overheard by an unknown girl 7 and a half years ago.   It was February of 2003 and the United States and its allies had issued an ultimatum to the dreaded Sadaam Hussein that he destroy weapons of mass destruction he did not have or else face destruction himself.  The rationale for this was that, if left alone, Sadaam Hussein might eventually use these weapons on his neighbors in a bid for power, so rather than cross that bridge if we came to it, we would endeavor to unseat him, which was the one thing that would guarantee Sadaam's use of the weapons of mass destruction (if he had them).   Of course, Sadaam Hussein could have saved us all a great deal of trouble by simply providing proof that he destroyed his weaponry and by assenting to every UN request for information.  But  he couldn't do this because, if he did, he would lose some of his power.  So, instead, he refused, which guaranteed that he would lose all of his power.

In the face of this reckless stupidity, these monstrous calculations by both sides,  I decided that I would join the Stop the War March and Rally in Boston and that I would skip class to do it.  The March failed in its stated objective, and was derided by virtually everyone in the media with a column or microphone or late night comedy show.  There were be puppets, Marxists, and bums, a whole carnival of misfits intermingling with more conventional lefties.  The whole thing was absurd and illogical and irrational. But still! What can you do when the whole world has gone mad? You have to scream back at it.

Evidently a girl at the walkway to a house around the 160s of Bay State Road disagreed. "I am protesting the war in an intelligent way" she said shortly before the scheduled beginning of the rally to a companion nodding in agreement "I am going to class."  "Alright, I get it," I thought.  The protest was going to be an exercise in futility, and so maybe the best way to oppose something like the Iraq war was to continue your education and be able to counter the arguments made by the relentless talking heads insisting at the necessity of war.  This is a cousin to the argument Jon Stewart makes today, that if we counter irrationality with rationality, our arguments will prevail in the end.

But if The Market is the false god of the hard right, Rationality is the false god of the soft left.  Of course there is room for and need of rationality in political discourse, but rationality, neat debate arguments, and ironic mocking of the other side aren't what ultimately feeds powerful political movements.  Rational argumentation is a tool, but ultimately nobody except the fussiest Yuppie is persuaded to join a movement because of rationality.  People are persuaded far more by sentiment, often by a deep sense of unfairness informed by their moral values.  The value of the rallies Stewart often mocks bring this sentiment to the attention of politicians and like minded people, and have power in that they fill people with a kind political euphoria that encourages them to work for the cause.  This might be closer to religion than rationality but it's what renews and powers our democracy.

The Anti-War rally in 2003 failed in its objective, and was even mocked by Stewart at the time for its carnival-like atmosphere, but it was a powerful and moving experience that collectively gave its attendees hope and a renewed sense of faith in their fellow Americans in those dark days.  It also gave us all the chance to express the deep sense of injustice at the action we were taking.  Attending the protest remains one of the proudest moments of my life, because there is nothing so noble as standing up for a just cause.

Perhaps the Rally to Restore Sanity will do that for its attendees, but I doubt it.  Great rallies and movements can't be built on ironic detachment, on the sense that people are silly for being upset at the government.  The satire that Stewart peddles is doubtlessly entertaining, but its the kind that makes people want to participate less in the various decidedly unironic activist movements.  I know Stewart claims that these activist movements are somehow the problem, and that if the moderate middle controlled things, we would somehow have better outcomes.  But the reason our politics are so insane is that the moderate middle by virtue of being wrapped up in themselves ("having other shit to do") doesn't care enough about civil and economic rights to stick with those principles even through difficult times.  It's that apathy and detachment that leads to the undesirable political outcomes, not passion and caring.  We need less "sanity" not more.  

A fairly typical 18 hours

I know, I know, I broke my promise to post yesterday, but really you are the better for it.  I had punched out a few paragraphs that seemed, upon further review, to be too stupid to see the light of day.  It was something about how the whole nightlife industry was based around hope and fear and how depressing it all is.  It was the kind of thing an obnoxious straight edge kid would write in his freshman year of college, and I decided that I didn't really believe it once I wrote it. 

In any event I did end up going out last night, and the whole thing was thoroughly pleasant in a goofy sort of way, and the hours rolled by rather easily.  I went to a wine bar with Puck, Klaus, and Kermit.  Puck informed me that he's starting a blog on his experiences in Washington, since he just moved here, and mentioned that he's going to used pseudonyms for everyone he writes about.  As you can probably tell by now I've decided to adopt this policy.  I have not yet reached to point in my life where I am out cavorting with Pucks and Kermits! I don't plan to necessarily write scandalous things about people in these pages, but I suppose its better to keep some cloak of anonymity to protect the not-so-innocent.  In addition it's fun coming up with fake names for people.  

The night proceeded inevitably to Nellies where I had an interesting conversation with my friend Max on the recent burqa ban France, which I'll post on separately so as to not confuse things.  But suffice to say, Max, like most Right Thinking People, disagreed with the ban while I supported it.  

In the morning, I brushed away my exhaustion and dragged myself out to the morning run with my running group.  It was a brilliant morning, slightly chilly in the shade but soothingly warm in the sunlight.  Such mornings are probably the perfect pairing for a cup of strong coffee, which is what I had before I ran.  

The coffee evidently helped me as I had a fairly strong run.  Nicely enough there was even some drama to it, as I started off slowly to chit-chat with Kermit about his upcoming races, but found myself trailing the lead runner, David, by a wide margin as I turned on to Rock Creek trail.  I think of David as about my equal as a runner, and so, being pathologically competitive about these things, I just had to catch up in short order to set the world right.  I shifted from my lazy relaxed form to a more serious pose and set about making up the distance.  

David was frisky this morning and running well, so it took some effort to get up to an adequate speed to close, but the dry, cool air was excellent fuel for my lungs and I was soon charging down the dirt trails at top speed.  As David's running figure got closer and closer it only encouraged my efforts to overtake him.  Even when there is nothing at stake and no match or competition has been agreed to, I always feel an almost primal thrill at catching a target or vanquishing a "foe" while running.  While I'm engaged in this task, all other thoughts and concerns are flooded out.  Pain is a secondary annoyance; large questions  that usually occupy the center of my consciousness are crowded out by the desperate need to catch up and pure pleasure of the chase.  

As we pass through the zoo, I'm only a few steps behind David. I begin to think, perversely, about how to pass him while making the greatest impact.  While ostensibly this is a friendly workout, I'm figuring out how I can use what energy I have left to pass by him in such a way that he won't even try to catch up.  This sort of tactic rarely works, but it's part of the psychological bag of tricks I've built up to push myself faster than I could normally carry myself.  It encourages me to go hard even though there's no obvious prey ahead to encourage me further.  

Just outside the zoo, I pass David.  I make an attempt to put some distance between us.  I pump my arms and swing my legs faster, trying to charge down the small hill just outside the zoo.  David is not impressed and manages to keep pace just enough to keep his shadow in my view.  From this point, the run becomes a cooperative venture, as we've recognized that we're each other's equal in skill on this day.  After things settle down we even manage a few words on "what exactly are those animals?" as we pass back through the zoo.  

Alas, as Updike said, "every true story has an anti-climax," and such was the case here.  At the end of the zoo, my shoelaces betrayed me, and I was forced to stop to tie them at which point David was able to build up enough of a lead to sustain him through the end of the run.  I did make a valiant last charge on the last mile, but a tired body moves violently when it's trying to catch up, and this violence undid my shoelaces a second time.  I resigned myself to my fate, and concentrated on keeping an even pace for the rest of the run, consoling myself with thoughts of a pumpkin muffin at the end.  

Another attempt at restarting the blog, hopefully this one will stick

Ever since the blog's heyday in 2004/05, when the world was young and things lacked names such that it was necessary to point, I have vowed several times to restore this space to its rightful place of honor, with each attempt being an abortive failure. For those that weren't with me during those heady days in January 2004 when I established the World of Dennis, let me tell you that it was quite the hit among the Boston University and College Debate communities. I was righty hailed as a witty and thoughtful commenter on the human condition, and I would like to think that for perhaps one day in February 2004 it was more well known than the nascent Facebook among the intellectual elite of the 18-22 set.

It is strange how the ideas just stopped percolating around the Summer of 2005. Life is funny that way: a special time and place induces us to creative activity, but then the slightest rocking of the boat stops it almost as suddenly as it started. I suppose I have devoted my creative energies to other things at other points: to my column in the Free Press in 2005 and my political blog with Jonathan in 2008, but that leaves a lot of space in between. It's space that I don't have an explanation for except that sometimes life gets busy, sometimes the thoughts don't come easy, and sometimes I'm just too damn lazy.

But enough apologies! I hope to be back for good this time. I can't tell you why I was particularly inspired tonight to write, or why it seems so clear in my head, more than other times, that this attempt will succeed. Neurology tells us that the vast majority of our brain activity takes place in the subconscious mind, and that our conscious mind, which we consider to be the center of our existence, is merely the barely competent manager of the vast subconscious bureaucracy of our neurons. At some point, perhaps tonight down the long, cool, and fast descent down Mass. Ave. or perhaps last night during a dream, a group of brain cells motivated by a stray electrical impulse or the Soul itself conspired to return me to the World of Dennis, and the World of Dennis to you. And so I am just riding this wave of subconscious momentum for as long as it lasts and as long as the ideas keep flowing.

Alas, it is time for me to read and go to bed, but I promise a more substantive post tomorrow.