To be right is to…
…give more than empty words.
…understand chaos in the universe.
…live long past the point of no return.
…transgress popular culture and get to the root of the mater.

You become pop culture as a by product.

I have spent a life of procrastination
to escape the rigors of a desk job.
I never wanted a profession that weighted on my life.
Occupation, like marriage, is a prison sentence.

To be right comes with…
…a set of skills of it’s own.
…no remorse or hard feelings.
…the understanding of why you are right.
…the bottom of a bottomless heart.

You only appear like an asshole.

Of all the ways one can live their life,
There is none better than being right.
Which of course takes in to account
more than the ignorant notion of being right.

To be right takes into consideration…
…the truth.
…the humans.
…the environment.
…the change.

A universal view can see the big picture.

Neo-cons wouldn’t know the first thing about being right.
Nor the punch drinking liberals.
The truth is not pretty,
but it shall set you free.

So a lot of people write “how to be well-rounded” articles at some point or another in their writing careers. I know, I wrote the original article quite some time ago. By popular demand, it’s back, and in the parlance of our times, it is being embiggened to proportions hithertofore unseen.

Rather than one article with a few super half-assed ways to improve yourself as in the original article, this new series will go in depth into how to be amazing. Now some of you may have your doubts, and I agree–maybe all of this is full of shit.  But then I argue that any series on being well-rounded that has “shit” somewhere in the first couple paragraphs has to be somewhat different–possibly even good.

And this is a Half-Assed guide, so it’s full of shortcuts and easy ways to become cultured, or at least seem more cultured than you really are. Unlike most who give sage advice, I’m not going to give you a list of “must-read” books or “must smoke” cigars. I will give you a general idea of what does and doesn’t count.

Are You Adequately Cultured?

Cultured Might Be You

So this series will serve as a guide about dealing with people who may be far more cultured than you are, and convincing them you are at least closer to their level than they think (and hopefully, you’ll succeed in convincing them you’re lightyears ahead of them, to gain their admiration.)  

Use this knowledge at your peril, however. I will teach you how to fake these things, but not necessarily that it is a good idea to do so. Bullshitting people is probably the stupidest thing you can do in a serious situation. But sometimes it’s just too hilarious to pass up when given the opportunity.

So why is being adequately culture important?

Let’s say you end up at an afterparty for an art showing, presumably as a favor for a friend. Your friend has abandoned you. Everyone’s talking about stuff you don’t care about, like how Salieri was underrated and that Wendtworth Higgenbotham made it into Harvard, which is positively ghastly because the Higgenbothams are a Yale family. You just can’t stop gawking at that blonde babe in the red dress who looks just as bored and horny as you are, but you just can’t get away from this group of people who are discussing things which only increase your boredom–you can’t get away to put the epic moves you learned from reading Roissy to good use on her.

No, they have you trapped in some sort of Borg tractor-beam. While you are busy committing the vile sin of lust deeply in your heart, some reject from Revenge of the Nerds accosts you to ask if you’ve read The Adventures of Roderick Random by Tobias Smollett.

First of all, you ask what the hell kind of name is Roderick Random? And second, who the hell names their kid Tobias Smollett?  Unfortunately, you don’t know anything about picaresque novels of the 18th century, so instead you say “your mom asked me that last night.”

The annoying nerd in a polo-shirt and ascot, confused, asks what business you had with his dear mother. You tell him he’s gay. He says yes, he’s “very exuberant at the moment—oh but you probably meant homosexual, in which case, no” but he still doesn’t see why that’s relevant to what business you had with his mother.

Something snaps inside and you revert to your primal nature because you have no safety net of adequate-culturedness, and you punch him in the face. He cries. The party stops. Even the guy on the piano who hates these people just as much as you do is shaking his head: “for shame, for shame.” Everyone’s staring at you, and the hot blond in red rushes over and slaps you for punching out her poor defenseless little brother.

This is not something that actually happened to me, but it could have. Names have been changed, it wasn’t an art showing and I never did punch the guy but I wanted to–Blondie probably wasn’t his sister, and it wasn’t Roderick Random. But it’s what would have happened if I did what I wanted to do at an unfortunate party once. It could have been me, and probably was what happened in an alternate universe.  And if it could have been me, it’s certain that it could also have been you.

Have No Fear, the Adequately Cultured Ian is here!

Never fear, I will tell you what you must do to deal with such people without bringing mothers or questions of sexual orientation into the equation. You must be able to Make It or Fake It, and by It, I mean being adequately cultured–in case you got lost in the above semi-fictitious anecdote.

In our first article, approximately one week hence, we will deal with the issues of either mastering or appearing to have mastered literature. In following articles we will delve into alcohol, tobacco, music, fine art, food, firearms, automobiles, and, if the gods smile on this endeavor and site traffic permits–much more.

Each article will be divided into Basic, Advanced, and Master Techniques. How to use each technique depends on how clever you are. Some people have to do the Basic techniques their whole lives, which means actually doing work (for the remainder of the series, these people shall be referred to as “chumps”.) But if you’ve gone through enough of the basics, or can skip them by means of your own sheer awesomeness, the Advanced Technique is for you: it means you can Fake It. A true Master has attained the ability to Make It and Fake It at the same time, which I suppose means he’s the genuine article, but I’m not totally certain–but in that ambiguity lies limitless power.  Wait, I think I’ve used that line somewhere before.

Join the Adequately Cultured Ian as he lights the lit:

TBA

]]> http://www.americannonfiction.com/adequately-cultured-person/102/feed 1 http://www.americannonfiction.com/failure-conservatism-a-polemic/82 http://www.americannonfiction.com/failure-conservatism-a-polemic/82#comments Wed, 04 Apr 2012 19:31:46 +0000 Ian McLeod http://www.americannonfiction.com/?p=82 Continue reading →]]> by Ian McLeod

–With Thanks And Highest Regards to the Late Mr. Nock

Whilst I’m occasionally mistaken for a conservative, as I have a preference for economic freedom and have some (but certainly not all) traditional cultural views, I am not a conservative because I have no desire to see my personal or cultural views legislated on anyone–and in fact reject every attempt even to legislate them on me or anyone else, as I believe the fictitious King Pausole’s laws are the only laws worth having: first “hurt no man,” then “do as you please.”

Conservatism is an utter failure in America, as this election cycle has proven.  Once more Ron Paul has been destroyed by the Republican Party machine, and three identical candidates vie for a meaningless title. That was predictable.  I am nominally a supporter of Paul, but I did not vote in the Alabama Primary and nor will I vote this November, except perhaps to write in “Zombie-Eisenhower” if I am feeling particularly cheeky on that Tuesday morn.  But this cycle, I realized something whilst reading Facebook comments and news articles and blogs all across the Internet: the Ron Paul supporters do not realize how spurious their own opinions are, because they share one thing in common (if only tangentially) with the Party Establishment.  While they are True Believers and the Establishment is not, this is true of the vast majority of Conservative voters (not the elected officials or media figureheads.)  Conservative voters are gullible, not because they are idiots but because they are maleducated (because most Americans are maleducated, regardless of political affiliation).

Indeed, the Paul supporters, who are closest to traditional conservatives of yore, have a massive blind-spot. Again, and so I don’t seem as if I’ve gone Leftist, I find Progressives are equally maleducated, but do have an advantage in that they spend absolutely no time looking back to learn from history except to heap guilt on people who personally have nothing to do with dead and buried atrocities.

Now I understand that Ron Paul is a libertarian trapped in a Republican’s body.  Believe me, I’ve been a reader of his for the better part of a decade: I was down with Ron Paul long before he was cool (I write this with utmost irony and sarcasm, of course.)  But, you see, the Constitution itself is an anti-libertarian document.  Why he hearkens back to it so much and with such fervor is beyond me at this point.  People and their blind spots.  The definition of mal-education.

You see, the Constitution was the product of a cynical coup d’Etat by the urban, mercantilist, creditor class (who happened to own vast tracts of land across the several states, and were owed quite a bit of money after they bankrolled that little revolution.  The Madisonians and Hamiltonians were Madisonians and Hamiltonians precisely because stood to benefit most from centralization.  Principle had nothing to do with it.)  My question thus is, why do you call for a return to constitutional principles if those very principles are simply the enhancement and centralization of government power?  Does revering a document which was itself the product of unprincipled opportunism not seem nonsensical, if not immoral?  It’s a self-contradiction.

As we all know, this coup was led by Madison and Hamilton and perpetrated while Jefferson was in France.  Patrick Henry “smelt a rat in Philadelphia, and it was tending towards Monarchy” and made it a point to no-show to the Convention.  Sam Adams joined him.

In any case, the Constitutional Convention was convened under the false pretense of hammering out some irregularities in the original Articles of Confederation.  Its stated purpose was not to replace the government entirely, but to make the Confederation run more smoothly.  But as soon as it was convened, Madison, Hamilton, John Jay, and their cronies changed the agenda and the end result is what we have today: the Constitution of the United States.  The only “framing” the framers of the Constitution did was of the terms of the debate–for the Federalists it had little to do with grandiose ideas or heart-felt principles, as it boiled down to power and money.  And like most astute politicians, they were able to sell the public down the river in the name of “national defense” and “general welfare.”  John Jay really laid out the agenda the most truthfully, and while I despise what he did I will not issue a damnatio memoriae for sharing the same birthday with him simply because he was honest about it:  “The people who own the country should run the country.”   That was the spirit behind the Constitution.

Oh sure, you can blame Lincoln, or Wilson, or Roosevelt, or Taft, or Obama for all the problems today–but the blame truly lies on the Constitutional Convention itself.  The Presidents and Congresses and Courts have simply played the hand they’ve been dealt.  It is important to remember that the document was not sent to the Continental Congress or the State Legislatures to be vetted before it was put directly to a popular vote–an odd thing for a country which only a few years prior was so determined not to succumb to the perils of democracy.

Now, if you’d prefer actual limitations on the power of central government, then acknowledge that the power of the purse itself must be returned to the state governments, as under the Articles of Confederation, with all the hardships and limitations that necessarily accompany it.  Easy war, expansionism, imperialism, and your favored social issues will, by default become impossible to accomplish legislatively through the heavy hand of central government–but at least so will the legislative goals of your opponents, who are consistently better at manipulating the masses than you are.

The thrust of this is simple: anything less than pure antifederalism is mere posturing.  You wish to “restore the Constitution” when in reality the Constitution is fine, it is working precisely as it was designed.  It was designed to replace a loose-knit confederation that was more similar to Switzerland than to Britain at first–a confederation with painfully explicit limitations of powers with a centralized Federal-National government with only very weak powers.  The Bill of Rights was, and is merely a Trojan horse–a sugar-coating to make the bitter pill of nationalism palatable.    There was far more freedom and individual liberty under the Articles of Confederation.  It was a flawed document, no doubt, but it erred on the side of the Everyman and of State and Local governments, rather than play with the fire of centralization.  Conservatives and Progressives in America today are identical: you only differ in how much fire with which you’re willing to play.  Neither of you question the wisdom of playing with fire in the first place, and for that you should be damned.

You conservatives should be less shocked and offended when the Supreme Court “legislates from the bench.”  The Supreme Court, in fact, is doing precisely what a body of unelected lifetime appointees with unlimited power is designed to do.  Jefferson saw it coming, and was dismayed.

You fail to see that an intentionally vague legal document is a dangerous thing.  In vagary there is unlimited power to be seized.  Progressives understand this better than you do.  Indeed, Progressives are better at interpreting the “original intent” of the Constitution than any Strict Constructionist, as the “original intent” was an unprincipled power-grab by the moneyed class sold as increased security and better services at the expense of both social and individual liberty (the irony, the irony!)  It would have been worse from the outset if not for the antifederalists who demanded a Bill of Rights to mitigate the damage from the inevitable compromises which ensued during the surprise convention.  But even then, the Bill of Rights was a “go along to get along” measure, a bone already sucked dry of its marrow thrown to the antifederalists and Jeffersonians to keep the entire country from Balkanizing outright (as Washington predicted it would.  Indeed, Washington believed the Constitution would not last 20 years.  It probably would have been better if he were right.)

Conservatism in America fails precisely because it deifies the very thing which created all the problems about which Conservatives frequently complain.  You look to a history that never was as you are too blinded by your romantic messianic visions of “founding fathers” or “framers” to see that they were people..  Some of them were great men, and most of them did great things, but as with most people who find themselves with far too much power and influence, they–especially Hamilton’s ilk but Jefferson was no saint either–used their power and influence to their own ends.  They were human.  There is no excuse over 200 years hence, for the wool to remain over your eyes.  Why do you hold it there in the first place?

As you Conservatives look to a history that never was, your only comfort is that Progressives look to a future that will never be (but bless their hearts, they try.)

Politics in America is merely the blind leading the blind, and as great Suleiman the Wise wrote three-thousand years ago, both will inevitably fall to destruction.

]]> http://www.americannonfiction.com/failure-conservatism-a-polemic/82/feed 10 http://www.americannonfiction.com/the-story/78 http://www.americannonfiction.com/the-story/78#comments Thu, 29 Mar 2012 21:30:32 +0000 Wesley A. Bridle http://www.americannonfiction.com/?p=78 Continue reading →]]> There is always a story. For a writer, and thereby meaning anyone who has a running inner monologue circling their Grey-matter, there is always a story. Maybe even two or three. Sometimes there are so many stories bidding for attention that the mere though of writing any one of them becomes a terrifying task.

Which is where I have been for the last year or so. Could be more. It’s hard to tell when
One is out there having fun in the warm California sun. However the real issue is the golden idol sized case of writer’s block.

Though even as I type that statement, I’m in full knowledge of how stupid an excuse it sounds. Writer’s block is what my friend calls “White Problems”. No one cares if you can’t place words on a page. No one but your overactive super-ego.

The small tiny voice that drones on and on, like an over-protective mother. Yet procrastination comes on strong like a good drug. Dopamine flooding into the context of the cortex.

Television, the New Age Nanny, becomes visual junk food where everyone is a clown or king with big pearly whites, all the better to eat your soul with, my drear.

Though one comes back to the place where it all started. A chair, computer, desk, and an Oxford comma for good measure. Speakers turned up to 11. Elton John belting out homogenized tunes through a lisp.

Outside the world falls apart bit by bit. Predicted and prescribed entropy for a rapidly decaying society on the cliffs of time.

You want meaning, You won’t find meaning here. We’re all tapped out and the bunghole is dry. Inebriation gives way to realization. It’s better to have the bottle in front of me than to have a frontal inspection at the airport.

There is no depth, no substance. We are all only skin and knee deep in a river of shit. Tempering our resolve. There are two ways out of Shaw-shank, five hundred feet of feces or the body bag.

The choice is yours to make and suffer the consequences. The decision becomes, at least in part, the story.

 

 

]]> http://www.americannonfiction.com/the-story/78/feed 0 http://www.americannonfiction.com/politics-of-words/46 http://www.americannonfiction.com/politics-of-words/46#comments Wed, 22 Feb 2012 20:38:53 +0000 Wesley A. Bridle http://www.americannonfiction.com/?p=46 Continue reading →]]>

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.” ~Constitution of the United States of America.

The first sentence of The U.S. constitution contains what appears to be a grammatical error. When the published copy of the Constitution was hung up for the world to see. The union of politics and words became further interlinked, as they have always been.

Thomas Jefferson’s use of “more perfect” has sparked the literary mind. One school of thought offers perfect is total unison, nothing could ever be more perfect. To be more perfect would mean what ever was perfect was never perfect until the point it was perfect.

Another school of thought offers “more perfect” is correct grammar as perfect is an exaggerated word. Nothing is ever perfect and to have the sense of entitlement to use perfect invites the use of “more perfect”.

No matter which school of thought you fall into, we learn about the nature of grammar from our constitution. The laws and rules of grammar are debated, changed, and tangible.

A writer must understand why he uses one word or another, as a politician must understand why he votes for one bill or another. When a writer goes to print, his job is to defend his word. When a Politician goes to vote, his job is to defend his vote.

If a writer’s grammar is weak, he will look like a fool to the literary world. If a Politician is uninformed, he will look like a fool to the televised public. We can see many places were the life of a politician and a writer have intertwined skills sets.

Grammar has politics of its own. One filled with strange rules and amendments.

In the beginning, there was “I Am.” The prefect sentence with a noun and an action. “I”, the noun, states a person place or thing and “am” ,an action, denotes a state of existing. “I am” means I exist, only with less letters.

The job for a writer is to explain themselves in a way that pays tribute to the first sentence. Writers pay tribute in many different ways. Hemingway was known for his understated use of words, while Twain offered verbose alternatives to “I Am.”

Both authors are debated and they both could defend their use of words. They knew the politics of words.

In the coming installments, we shall explore the politics of words. No system is free from politics. The infusion of free will leads to interaction and inevitably to politics.

Politics are the process by which people choose to make decisions. Similarly, grammar is the process by which people choose to communicate.

Grammar and Politics are subjective and we all fear the day when acronyms like “TTYL” and “LOL” find their way into our spell check as the day when a politician’s abuse of our freedoms finds its way into our law.

How would such a change occur? Through the debate of people who understand the subtle nuances and it’s time for us to join the debate.

]]> http://www.americannonfiction.com/politics-of-words/46/feed 1 http://www.americannonfiction.com/count-of-monte-cristo/49 http://www.americannonfiction.com/count-of-monte-cristo/49#comments Fri, 10 Feb 2012 18:17:44 +0000 Wesley A. Bridle http://www.americannonfiction.com/?p=49 Continue reading →]]> 1

Monte Cristo

Two thick bits of Holla
Two Slices of Turkey
And two thin hunks of ham

Two melted Holy swiss
One on top and bottom
Served with sugar and jam

2

Monte Cristo

Two thick bits of Holla
Two Slices of Turkey
And two thin hunks of ham

Two melted Holy swiss
One on top and bottom
Served with sugar and jam

3

Monte Cristo

Two thick bits of Holla
Two Slices of Turkey
And two thin hunks of ham

Two melted Holy swiss
One on top and bottom
Served with sugar and jam

After a night drenched in liberated spirits, some people say the worst part is the hangover. The pound of gray matter against the skull. The explosive reaction to sunlight reflected off white walls. The ache from every joint in the body. Surly, each aliment is hell but nothing compares to the guilt.

“No, really. What did I do?”

The answer to this question turned Bukowski dark and left Ireland sedated by the British. The real curse of the Irish. Not the limp of a dink, as if a fault of the phallus is a curse to the over populated. Nothing compares to the conjured ghosts of shot glass past, summoned forth to reap their havoc in slighted mental shows. Lamp shade nightmares bubble to the surface and join the heart upon the sleeve.

“Really? Am I that daft?”

Children learn by one burn from the stove’s hot top. I do this every weekend and add mental retardation to the list of my deficiency. Doubly so as the splintered bits of recollection are collected from the editing floor. A strip here, a segment there, drama displayed in a 50 foot horror show, “Attack of the Drunken Boob”.

“I am never getting out of bed.”

Doom and Gloom are kiddy rhymes in the bed of shattered memories. Broken conversation take demonic faces and laugh with a Jackal’s jowl. Worst than a bad acid trip, the flashes flood back to the cortex in uncontrollable spasms. Watch thy own self fallen down the bottom of the barrel.

“Or ever drink again!”

More promises to break in the weeks, days, hours, and minutes to come. The hair of the dog eases the pain and temporarily breaks the lycanthrope curse. I can stand on my hind legs and walk like a man. Free to take one down, pass it around, and wake to more horror in the morning.

Somedays, you wake up with a nicotine headache and computer eye strain. You haven’t shaved or showered in a day, maybe two, and your face shows it. There are new pains in your knees, wrist, and vertebrae. John, Paul, George, and the Shining Time Station’s Conductor start to sound groovin.’ NPR has become entertainment. You open up a newspaper, magazine, and the occasional book of nonfiction. You are old, but there is no way to stop it.

Somedays, you should have got a Brooks Brother’s suit and become a social vampire. You should have went to an institution of higher education and allowed yourself to be molded into the cookie cutter. You could have been a marketing executive and set your mind to swindle the general public. The infusion of graven images to public icon is big money, if you can bare to sell a little more of our soul. You could have been something or made something out of your life, but you didn’t.

Somedays, you come to the full realization this is your life; the cluttered desk, bathroom, and kitchen. This is the thing High School prepared you for and you find yourself to be ill equipped. You wake up. The calender says it is Monday. You know Monday is a day, but have fuzzy logic beyond that. Mondays used to mean something, like the start of the week. Now, you cannot fathom Garfield’s frustration.

Somedays, you wonder if it all worth it. You haven’t seen the Ocean in two months Two months is eternity to a sea side life. You miss the small stretch of beach at the end of Winnacunnet Road. Over the seawall and beyond the street light view, where the stars dance to an ocean roll beat and fog horn tune. Celestial bodies collide in meteorite showers to her lullaby.

Somedays, you are faced with the question “So what’s wrong with you, why no significant other?” and you have no answer. You can’t comprehend how someone would want a common face in their life, yours or theirs. Your distrustful of the ones who will have you and you want the ones who won’t. Every horoscope you ever read says work on your craft and the rest will play out. The advice appeals to your Virgo logic and you put trust in the cards.

Somedays, you think Steve is right. We live in 50 years of The Beatles and wonder if the band should still cover the face of pop culture. Every year, new bands are spawned and new voices take the scene. Yet, you hear no love on the radio dial and the Beatles remain important. The music is adapted, while the message is unperceived. No voice to broadcast the meaning and music lost its soul, but its face is printable a million times over. You could be that voice, but there is glitter and pretty lights to distract you.

Then somedays, everything works out. The birds chirp out a tune and the universe begins to make sense. You fear the other foot’s fall as calm waters lead to stormy weather. In this moment, you reach for clarity. You strive for perfection and keep back it’s ugly form of self molestation. You keep in mind your choice to get out of bed, your choice to become responsible. The streets are littered with the humans who gave up or gave into a holy life. You could be one of their numbers and the choice is your only freedom.

The introduction of cable into my own home drove the final nails into the coffin of my procrastination. Flesh of living dead burned by the light of day.

Yet, the fall happened much earlier in defeat, a white flag waved and aimed at an unjust world view. Far too large to fail and broken at the core. Life intrudes upon intentions and reality dissolves into wavy, hazy, tones of acid colored chaos.

The hounds chase the fox in patriotic colors. The Pied piper leads the rats past the sewer and into the great race, for God, dog, and country. Blind leaders storm the valley of Cyclopes, where the two eyed man is destine for striped shirts and cafeteria style meals.

The point shines as Tinker-bell’s light, it scurries from here and there. Avoiding, escaping, and always just beyond reach. Rain falls upon the windscreen, as the wipers bolt too and fro. Miles to go into pitch blackness with drivers asleep at the wheel.

Veering into on coming traffic, back to the point shone brightly through the droplets of water splattered over a plane of glass. Words and metaphors collide as warriors clash across a battlefield.

Stand not far from the fray. A slow jaunt back into the swing of axes and ring of swords printed across the front page in thick black fonts. No direction maps out the path and wooden signs point in all directions.

The mighty stand at the way side, with eyes of hawks and motivations of greed. The meek walk in the shadows with eye pointed down and feet kicking rocks. History revolves as planets move around a bright ball of heat.

Souls cast into a fiery pit of third-world, cracked, baron earth. Green is the color of the Emerald city where the grand Wizard is nothing more than the long con played out on a city of Dwarfs. More than hot air fills the balloon that carried him over full spectrum of color cast against tones of blue sky.

Past the mirrors reflection and into the wonderland of tea parties and games of croquet. The hand cover the face and spin, in a race with one constant turn. Daylight blinks nighttime and a traveler sits.

Though every ride reaches a destination in the form of conclusion. Change become the fulcrum stationed at each set of crossroads. To ponder, to plot, and on to a path.