Ron Paul Country: Mongolia in California
by Russell Johnson
California is, for the most part,
Mongolia. Erase the coasts and the canals that suck water from the
north to feed Big Asparagus and whiten the teeth of Valley Girls, it
would be as desolate as the steppes of Central Asia. Driving through
the high desert between Bakersfield and Las Vegas I note two
landmarks: a graveyard for embalmed airliners, in permanent holding
pattern at Mohave airport, and a shrine for Republican presidential
candidate Ron Paul. Paul is what is known as a Libertarian, a sect
of American politics that wavers between admirably cranky
conservatism and loco-weed lunacy: just right for the build-a-wall,
save-the-republic denizens of this landscape of coyotes, cactus and
bullet-riddled road signs.
Mothballed Jets, Mojave Airport
There is also no radio here, outside of
the squeals and crackles of distant 50 thousand watters. I set my
radio to scan, knowing that Paul and the rest of his party's
contenders were scheduled to debate on the ABC Network. Surely the
mighty 810, the ABC powerhouse talker in San Francisco would carry
it. Not so. Just a guy named Gabbert...gabbing. After drifting
through whistles and pops and pleas of preachers savoring the vowels
of Jeeeeesus like a good bowel movement, I finally alight on the
debate, weak and fading, for sure, but audible. As I might have
expected, nothing new or interesting here, even though I somehow feel
it is my patriotic duty to listen to this posing and jabbing on the
remote chance that I might find something redeeming in anyone in this
peanut gallery, with the possible exception of John McCain, an
honorable man whose time has past.
And then it happens, like a bad analogy
one of these guys might seize upon. The debate fades out and in fades
Jalisco music, an immigrant radio signal evading the border patrol,
bouncing over the Rio Grande off of that big wall in the ionosphere.
The debate fades back again for a few seconds, then
disappears...replaced by joyful Mexican trumpets. Just the right
thing to keep me awake on this stretch of desolate road.
Maybe I'll read about the debate in the
morning. Maybe.
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