I came from my second job as an art sales assistant.
My mother is a democrat, my father is republican.
The evidence adds up quickly to “who knows.”
In that second job, I chatted with Rob, who I had never met before. I've been working there for three weeks. He was concerned as well.
“I've been working here 35 years, and this year, I think I got four checks.”
The economy is rough for art. Indeed, why would you buy art when you could spend that $4,000 on a new transmission and two month's supply of food for your children? He asked how I got this job at the art store, and I told him about Peace Corps, and waitressing, and wanting something worthwhile to spend my time on. I expanded on the audience for Peace Corps memoirs and essays (small but diverse: think Chicken Soup or the Volunteers themselves) I bad mouthed Occupy Wall Street. I threw around the word “entitlement.” I may have said “bulshittery.”
I mentioned my shy involvement with the democratic party.
He said, “You sound more like a conservative than a liberal.”
“Maybe, but at least liberals take the stance that social choices should be made by the individual. Not that there should be policy concerning them at all in the first place. Maybe I'm a libertarian.”
He nodded his head above his all natural bone and hemp necklace.
I was waxing idealistic to a completely unknown audience... He looked like a hippy. Was in an art store. Art + Store.
“Maybe you're transitioning into conservativism,” he offered, “You sound like an old Democrat.”
I have no idea what that means. I know these parties parading before us today are perversions of all sorts of ideas and historical ideals, and duels.
“There is no moderate party,” I accused. Lamely.
When we walked out to my car, him carrying a big chinese peasant print my mom had just dropped $144 framing, I opened the door for him, and he put it in---right on top of my copy of Atlas Shrugged and collection of Trader Joes eco-friendly bags.
This is my physical evidence.
Conclusions pending.
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