Our New Civil War

So I was sitting in my office earlier today* and my thoughts wandered onto a hypothetical situation that I find entering my head on a disturbingly regular basis: what would happen if this country ever got into a down 'n' dirty Civil War?

For the purposes of this topic (alongside the fact that I'm not very intelligent) let's just set aside political policy, military capabilities and anything more high-tech than a universal remote control and pretend that if this country did head into a bloody battle within it's own borders that it would be a literal street fight. States would stand at the borders and battle other states like Liam Neeson and Daniel Day-Lewis at the beginning of Gangs of New York. There would be knives and guns and bats and wrenches and belts (for those without any other weapon besides treated leather... we'll call those people San Franciscans). Essentially what this question comes down to is: what type of Americans are the toughest? Okay look, I'm not gonna jerk you around, there's no reason to leave my conclusion a secret; I think Southerners would win. Oklahoma specifically.

Here's why:

I've watched enough reality television to understand how wars are fought. At first, you have two sides. Two teams. Two groups in a temporary alliance with one another. Everyone knows it's temporary, but these alliances form nevertheless. Past history comcludes that the North and the South are the two original teams we're looking at. For a short while I entertained the idea that it would split the other way with East Coast versus West Coast, but the Bible-Belters wouldn't really know which way to side. Can you really see some mini-van mom from Fargo standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a racoon-muncher from Baton Rouge? No. Me neither.

So this war starts out old school. And I'll tell you right now that the entire NorthWestern seaboard is the first one out of this fight. Westerners aren't angry, they've got nothing boiling inside them. They're like the gangly kid who incessantly yells "how you like THAT!" in a playground fight even though they're scared to throw a punch. Portland and Seattle versus Compton and Watts. Any takers on the North? No. I didn't think so.

So then there's just St. Louis, Detroit, Chicago the Bronx and the South Side of Boston left in the North, right? Alright, let's face it, Bostonians are really gonna ruin this fight for the rest of North. Bats will be flying, knives will be slicing the arteries of Baltimorians and D.C. Uniteds and all of a sudden some chowder head will inevitably yell out "Yankees Suck!" I don't know why Bostonians feel compelled to do this whenever they are in mixed company, but they do and believe me, they will and New Yorkers will defend themselves and end up eradicating both parties. Leaving bruised D.C. folk and enraged Mississippians to destroy the remaining New Englanders who will all inevitably trip over their pennyloafers.
So dang. The South shall apparently rise again. Speaking as someone who grew up in Chicago and then moved to Boston, this kinda sucks. But the fight isn't over.

I haven't mentioned Texas yet.

By my completely arbitrary calculations, Texas has wanted to take over the continental U.S. since the 1930's and they won't see this war as anything but an opportunistic way in which to become the U.S.T.
The dangerous thing about Texas is, from what I understand, everyone there spends a great deal of their time drinking Bud Lights and Schlitz (or is it Schlitzes?) Everyone else will be planning and scheming on how to do battle, meanwhile Texas will spend that time boot-scootin' and numbing themselves to all pain (including pain caused by boot-scootin') through the technique of drinking retarded amounts of Coors.

Now most people forget about Oklahoma or think that it's actually a part of Texas already, even Texas will think this and therefore leave Oklahoma completely alone. Untouched. This is sneaky of Oklahoma. Oklahoma is like that final wrestler in the 30-man royal rumble who walks down the aisle to the ring, watching the other 29 wrestlers pummel one another, tire one another out and eventually throw one another out of the ring. Oklahoma will have a few Buds while hiding behind a stupid and oblivious Texas.

And sure, Texas will win. San Diego is a bleeder, the Carolinas chicken out and retreat to Spain, Alabama punches itself in the head and knocks itself unconcious, etc. But Texas isn't so powerful that they don't have a high amount of casualites throughout this ensuing battle. Hell, even Braveheart lost a few of their blue-faced warriors.

Texas will be tired. Texas will be bruised and broken and bleeding. They will be coughing blood into their dirty palms. They will hack and wheeze and complain of sore thighs. But they will be proud. Proud and happy that the old U.S.A. is now the new U.S.T...

...Except that at the bar, later that night while Texas celebrates their total victory, they will look around and notice that they don't recognize a lot of the faces inside the honky-tonk. Shocks of fear will race up their spine, and an old Texas adage, learned while in their sixth year of high school, will arise in their hazy memory bank**

And then! And then! And then! Like a panther pouncing from the shadows, Oklahoma will release a brutal mastering of Texas. Oklahoma, released from the long-time shackles of Texas's shadow will not only defeat Texas, but incinerate them. Oklahoma will eat the hearts of Houstoners, boil the flesh of Dallas folk, and stick the heads of Austiners on pikes longer than the corn stalks in Iowa (and Oklahoma, come to think of it). It will be inglorious and tragic and awful.

The French will weep. Korea will go mental. Australia will... well, Australians will probably just continue surfing and playing with boomerangs and stuff.

Yeah. Wow. Oklahoma. Who knew? All I'm saying is that when it all goes down, I'm packing my copy of The Grapes of Wrath. Just in case.

I am bored at my job sometimes.

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*Alright, it isn't so much an office as it is a deskchair with a nearby file cabinet, but I've arranged these two items so that they resemble a fairly awesome kind of cubby and I complete my daily paperwork admirably each day (and by "daily paperwork" I mean the Boston Herald crossword and my horoscope calendar).

** The old adage being: "if you don't recognize the idiot in the room in the first five minutes... you're the idiot."

The Heart Of A Woman

I no longer fear death. A few years back, I might've said differently, but now... now I don't really even respect death much.

Four years ago, I was forced into an emergency heart transplant. I had severe valve blockage, and several blood clots forming at various points encasing the heart. This would have been the point in time where, had you asked me, I woulda told you I was scared of death.

But once you get your old organ ripped outta your chest cavity and a new one stuck in it's place... nothin' that scared you before that moment will scare you after it. Almost nothing scares me now. Nothing except dancing. Dancing scares me now. I never really danced much before I went through a heart transplant. But since then, I dance all the time.

They say those who receive the heart of a donor will, upon occasion, take on the characteristics of said donor. However, most of the recorded examples of this were based on the patient acclimating to the donor's history only after learning it from donor reports and doctor's postings. So okay, so now I dance. I didn't much dance before, now I dance like I was raised in a cabaret. The problem is, I never read anyting about the donor until about a year ago. Hell, I didn't even realize I was given a woman's heart. I signed a waiver stipulating that I have access to this information, but not be supplied with it unless I sought it out. Apaprently, a woman's heart is not the same size a man's and, in fact, a doctor can visually decipher a male heart from a female heart.

I have a female heart inside me.

Which isn't to say that I am writing now with some confusion in regards to my sexual preference or to suggest I'd like my outer self to match the heart keeping me alive. I write now only to suggest that if it's true that one takes on various attributes of the donors before they became donors, then it should serve as another reason to be careful with the vessle you were born in.

It also gives me reason to no longer fear death. Apparently, we live on, bit by bit in the bodies of everyone else. When I think like that, nothing scares me. Fuck it, let's dance.