THE SWINGER VOTE

If you make a sharp left on Mt. Zoar Street about thirty feet west of the Rite-Aid and continue driving for about a half an hour toward Sayre you reach one of the oddest places in all of rural America. What appears on the surface as a typical Republican redoubt of disheveled virtue, anti-Euclidian hand-wringing and genteel homophobia is in fact a hotbed of revolutionary foment and closeted subversive intrigue.

I'm talking of course about Grande Trace, New York, home of the Secret Sons of Albion.

The Secret Sons as anyone who has even glanced at a newspaper in the past six months can tell you are an ad hoc cabal of middle-aged men who intend by glint of witchcraft and homeopathic magic of deposing and upturning what they call the "smart-ass urban elites."

I love these guys with their over-sized baseball caps, decrepit RV's and their fanatic devotion to forgotten poets and political philosophers. They meet twice a month in the basement of Our Lady Star of the Sea and argue until their wizened throats turn brittle with all their idiotic fury. 

I stopped by a few weeks ago - my buddy Elton is a regular - to something they call a "Bagel with Hegel," and I'll tell you, these guys are hot-headed. Someone in a weathered khaki vest and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt was screaming about transcendence and something about finitude and duty and for a few tense minutes I thought things would get violent. But when he got up from his seat and gave this tattooed Kantian a tender kiss on the lips I knew it was all a big bluff.

The Feds think these guys are a real threat but after seeing them in action I don't think there's much to worry about. Sure they have a few guns but who doesn't. If there's any real reason for concern it's their obsession with William Blake.  Dragging "the chain of life in weary lust" is a pressing issue for them and if the "lambs of joy" can't find their way to "the Tent of God" any time soon there's no telling how the Secret Sons might react.  

But on the grand scale of conspiratorial crackpots I give these guys a 6. While they still believe in God and are adamantly pro-life they also swim in the nude and smoke a lot of pot.

Man, I love this country! 

DAMN!!

The Lord Jesus Christ revealed himself to me forty-two years ago on a dim stretch of Route 17 about 14 miles east of Corning.

I haven't heard from him since.

Not that I expected to, though it would have been nice to check in with me once in a while. 

A lot of other people seem to be keeping in contact with him but not me.

I know what you're thinking but it's not for lack of trying.

I attend church, though not as often as I used to. I pray but not with much conviction. It's not that I have doubts, though I do (who doesn't?) It's more that I don't feel like taking up the Lord's time.

Besides, what should I pray for? World peace? Now that's a laugh. If the Son of God had a dog in that fight we'd all be singing Kumbaya around our lava lamps by now. Praying for my personal well being seems, well ... a bit presumptuous, don't you think? I mean, would you call up Bill Gates to ask for tech support if you forgot the password to your email account?

So it's been like that with Jesus and me. He leaves me alone and I basically return the favor.

Unless of course I cut my finger while slicing a tomato.

COME GATHER 'ROUND PEOPLE

I'm not one for customer complaint. The wise injunction of Caveat emptor typically dissuades me from pursuing any kind of consumer dissatisfaction beyond a general explosion of vulgar invective. But I recently received the Christmas catalog of The Great Learning Company - a formidable enterprise that offers college level courses on DVDs - and for the first time in my long life I was prompted to express my grievances in the form of a letter.

Dear The Great Learning Company,

I want to begin by thanking you for filling the glaring chasms in my faulty education. For almost twenty years you have guided me like Virgil through the Underworld (Great Learning: Course no. 4907) addressing the awful omissions of my costly yet inadequate college education. As an engineering major I scarcely gave a second thought to The Greek and Roman Worlds (Great Learning: Course no. 3301) nor to The Treasures of The Uffizi (Great Learning: Course no. 4009). Thanks to you, art and the humanities have opened themselves up to me and I have become an avid life long autodidact.

But even more importantly, it was through our common interest - dare I say passion - for The Great Learning Company that my wife Betty and I first recognized the profound bond between us. From the day I noticed her at Starbucks, ear-budded and riveted to Milton's Paradise (Great Learning: Course no. 2001), I knew that I had finally found a kindred spirit. Betty was a paragon of Brains and Beauty (Great Learning: Course no. 2200) who was at home in the world of ideas as she was in The Realm of the Senses (Great Learning: Course no. 4104).

Sadly, times have changed and with the times both you and Betty have dumbed down beyond recognition. Though I fully understand the difficulty in remaining profitable in this highly competitive atmosphere it is nonetheless lamentable that your once venerable company now concentrates primarily on courses like Happiness and Yoga Therapy (Great Learning: Course no. 7080), Six Secrets to Confidence and Success (Great Learning: Course no.7309) and Sophocles and Fitness: How Antigone Can Help You Control Your Cholesterol (Great Learning: Course no. 7398).

You've not only lost me as a devoted customer but in your attempt to seize the spirit of the age you have lost Betty as well. My wife no longer has the patience to pore over the terza rima of the Purgatorio (Great Learning: Course no. 2379)  nor does she find comfort in Maimonides' Guide for the Perplexed (Great Learning: Course no. 1980) and when she needs to monitor her intake of carbs she consults the Huffington Post and not Human Physiology and Weight Loss (Great Learning: Course no. 8093) or Decisive Diets and The Will To Live (Great Learning: Course no. 8110).

Please remove me from you mailing list or as they say in the world of social media, 'unlike.'

Sincerely,

Clement Digby

Of course I'm nearly certain that my letter will remain unread. After all, I wrote it on a piece of paper.