America, I’m sorry.

The following items are incontrovertible facts. No debate, no interpretation, just bare-bone line items of truth.

1. March 8th: I filled out a form to register as a Virginia voter.
2. April: I received a letter in the mail from the City of Alexandria that included the word “voter” or “voting” prominently on the first page. I assumed (expecting a repeat of ’04) that it was my voter registration card.
3. November 8th: I was told I was still registered in Ohio, and as such I was unable to vote in Virginia.

Accordingly, I did not vote. The election I attempted to vote in ended up being the most hotly contested and tight elections of the year (VA Senate), and unfortunately, my shame does not end there.

• I received 47 separate e-mails from the MoveOn.org requesting my help. They repeatedly asked for help in telephoning voters to remind them to vote. I made a total of 10 calls and reached a total of 0 working numbers before I gave up.
• MoveOn.org telephoned me five times asking for my services in calling people so that they themselves could call voters. I participated in 0 meta-voter recruitment calls.
• MoveOn.org telephoned me three times asking for help on Election Day. I even signed up for a tentative shift at their DC office. I did not go, because it was raining.

By the end of the day, I was feeling fairly pathetic as a participant in democracy, so when my officemate asked me to drive him to pick up his pre-ordered copy of Guitar Hero 2, I lept at the chance. “Only if you vote first!” I told him. We rushed to my car in a fit of patriotic fervor only to be stopped cold by traffic. When the clock ticked 7pm (close of polling), we reluctantly abandoned democracy and instead went to grab Indian food.

CNN tells me that America did pretty well today, with Rumsfeld resigning and the Democrats picking up seats everywhere. However, I take none of the credit. I’ve failed in every aspect of democracy, from organizing to participating to voting, and I can take no credit for the success of the people I did not physically support.

Regardless, because of all those other participants and voters, today was the first day in a while that I felt optimistic about where America was going.

Thanks.

God forbid we should ever be twenty years without such a rebellion. The people cannot be all, and always, well informed. The part which is wrong will be discontented, in proportion to the importance of the facts they misconceive. If they remain quiet under such misconceptions, it is lethargy, the forerunner of death to the public liberty. … What country before ever existed a century and half without a rebellion? And what country can preserve its liberties if their rulers are not warned from time to time that their people preserve the spirit of resistance?

Let them take arms. The remedy is to set them right as to facts, pardon and pacify them. What signify a few lives lost in a century or two? The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure.

Thomas Jefferson, Letter to William Stevens Smith (November 13, 1787)

The following is a true story. If Dawkins is indeed wrong, I doubt this will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Rock It Bar and Grill is an enlightening place to go dressed as Muhammad.

“Are you serious?”

I turned to look over my shoulder to find the source of the question. Your standard issue 30-year-old-white-guy-wearing-a-collared-shirt had been opening the door to the bathroom until he saw me. Now he stood with a bemused look of shock on his face.

“I’m always serious,” I said sternly, throwing a crumpled paper towel into the trash can. Squeezing past him and his goofy grin into the hall, I was pleasantly greeted with another stunning rendition of an early 90’s rap song. After dodging a gothic looking couple making out, I proceeded to the bar to order another drink.

I was adorned with my best attempt at traditional Arab garb: keffiyeh, Kurdish pants, a canvas colored button up shirt and a pair of sandals no matter what the weather. And, unlike some of the people that were staring at me, I was wearing a smile.

The reactions non-Arabs gave to my outfit were split perfectly down the middle. Half would laugh out loud and slap their knee at how totally audacious / bodacious I was. The other half would frown disapprovingly and give me a look that said in no uncertain terms: “inappropriate.”

Dressing up as Muhammad didn’t strike me as any different than dressing up as Jesus or Gandhi. All were important historical figures that changed their regions and the world irreversibly. Though I had told people beforehand that I was attempting to dress like the prophet of Islam, there wasn’t any outward way to tell. While I did a pretty good modern day Arab man (albeit with that whole white thing), in actuality my costume was not only pedestrian but inaccurate; Muhammad likely didn’t even wear a keffiyeh, instead probably wearing a turban. To anyone in the know, I just looked like an Arab.

That fact might have helped me out in the end. The reaction I got from the small Middle Eastern crowd was universal: wide smiles, handshakes and slaps on the back.

“Your costume is very authentic, where did you get it from?” said a friendly man with an Arabic accent several years my senior.

“My dad picked it up in Northern Iraq, Kurdistan.”

His smile broadened from ear to ear, and with obvious pride in his voice stated, “I … am a Kurd!”

After a brief exchange where he expounded upon the positive qualities of the present inhabitants of ancient Assyria, I threw out the obligatory “as-salaam alaykum” and caught the usual “walaykum as-salaam” in return.

I wasn’t making fun of anyone or anything by wearing that outfit. In my head it was just authentic garb worn in an attempt to dress as an important historical figure. Of course, what goes on in my head is often of little relevance to what goes on outside it.

When someone dresses up as Einstein, there aren’t groups of physicists getting angry because you’re mocking a great man. They just smile and go, “Yep, that’s our guy. Say what you will, but we think he’s pretty great.”

I wish every group saw it that way.

To almost everyone, driving is the simple pursuit of moving yourself efficiently from point A to point B. However, to a select few, driving is a matter of life and death where precious seconds can make a crucial difference.

Before starting, make sure that:

• The road is clear and free of obstacles such as cars, children, animals, etc.
• You are traveling at a reasonably safe speed.
• The car has a manual transmission with a handle-style emergency brake
• Your left hand is on the wheel, right hand on the emergency brake, with feet on the gas and clutch.
• You are not driving an SUV, van or for the love of god a vehicle carrying a trailer.

To properly execute a moving skid turn, execute the following steps.

1. Cut the wheel slightly in the direction you wish to turn.
2. Pull the emergency brake slightly to initiate the skid of the back wheels.
3. Point the wheels in the direction you want to go, counteracting the skid direction.
4. Once the skid is initiated and the car is in a sideways motion, release the emergency brake.
5. Accelerate quickly in the direction of choice, always pointing the wheel in the direction of the intended motion.

The steps required to execute a well timed skid turn are simple, but much practice is required to get the proper timing. Also, the feel of your car when it’s moving in a direction other than where you are facing is novel and scary at first, but eventually becomes natural, even commonplace.

As a final aside, frequent skid turn use will cause side to side wear on tires, requiring more frequent replacement.

Three and a half years ago I took part in my first radio telethon. The goal was to talk for about 1/3 of my hour and a half long show and solicit those sad and lonely college radio listeners into giving money to the station. I got pretty emotional as it approached the end of my show (5am), but I like to think I made a difference, if even in a small way.

Unprepared? Slightly. Awkward? More than a bit. In any event, I enjoy the sound of my own high pitched radio voice so much that I hope you do too.

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For the record, I stopped being scared of the mic. This made me quite a bit more toolish, but better. Just putting that out there.

Original air date: 4/08/2003