Den Cotton

Do you ever go the ballpark and spend too much time wondering about all the trash generated during a game? Well, that’s what I do, anywhere I used to have fun, including home.

Why do I do it? Because I live in Asheville, North Carolina — Land of the Sky and home of the dissident — where people are always shouting at me about not doing this and doing too much of that. And that’s why I am a crazy person now. But strangely enough, I like it — especially since it causes little nuts of anxiety and inadequacy to store up in my cheeks, something I’m saving for a beautiful woman and a winter wedding one day.

Asheville is not what I consider to be a “green” city although the tree huggers are making it much harder to be environmental flunkies. There are a lot of initiatives and organizations that promote environmentally-conscious living, and it is actually quite easy to be informed in Ashevegas — if you are so inclined — which is probably why I always feel like I’m not doing enough; which I’m clearly not. And unless you live in an ecovillage like Earthaven, you probably aren’t curbing your carbon, Sasquatch footprint either.

We have an alternative weekly news and entertainment paper here called Mountain Xpress, which makes it pretty easy to keep in touch with what’s going on, not only with the green scene itself, but any other wacky things shaking out, like polar bears — people dressed like polar bears of course — protesting in the park, flanked by police in riot gear. Those things annoy some people. But I’m a pretty twisted individual, and ever since I became a Howard Zinn fan, I guess I like the drama from some good, old-fashioned civil disobedience.

Sometimes there are funny, heated debates about global warming — and just about any other social conundrum — in some of the blogs at the MountainX, which on occasion, end in an overly-pretentious conclusion of “my Logic 101 professor can beat up your Logic 101 professor.” When I’m really bored, I can’t get enough of it. And it always makes me happy to see folks get skewered in the Asheville Disclaimer – the finest real fake news in all the land — a publication I would never think of contributing to — ever.

I’m greatly amused that I hang out with hippies, borderline anarchists, gays, lesbians, Latinos, Nascar fans, old people, and funny talkers like my friend, who still can’t say the word convention without a crazy southern accent.

So I’m wondering if all of these folks can change the world. It’s tough to change our habits, especially when it can be inconvenient to be environmentally friendly. But I’m one of those misguided people who thinks a little bit is better than nothing. I’m generally optimistic, also a cranky, old bastard at times, and as of recently, I’ve been called everything from a hypocrite to a moron to well … perhaps downright stupid. Good thing I don’t take myself too seriously, and neither should you.

I have a friend — we’ll call Arnold to protect his identity — who says most people really aren’t that far apart on most issues. I agree with him to an extent, and I think this is definitely one of those issues. We all just want to get the girl, save the world, walk off into the sunset, and pray that we didn’t screw up too bad in the end.

I try to do my part with the basics of recycling at home, using compact flourescent light bulbs, taking my own bags to the grocery store, trying to buy used stuff, and at least thinking about the effects of what I do, something I would have never thought of 8 years ago before I moved to the Blue Ridge Mountains. Even then, I still drive too much.

Every once in a while, I go to Sustainable Asheville events so I can feel really depressed after watching documentaries like What a Way to Go: Life at End of Empire. (I highly recommend seeing this if you want a thick, heaping helping of reality, but keep the suicide hotline on speed dial because it is much worse than anything Al Gore could drum up to make you feel like a total craphead planet wrecker.) You can also turn on Democracy Now with Amy Goodman, which has its share of global warming propaganda, and usually, very thought-provoking guests — if you’re into that kind of real, menacing, conspiratorial news — like I am sometimes. If you’re a Fox News junkie, I suggest you stay away from this one.

All of these doom-and-gloom documentaries and programs are great for reminding us of our imminent implosion. But if you really want to get your Apocalyptic freak on, I suggest going to the dump two times a year. It was a good summer vacation in ‘07.

Life was a lot simpler in Asheville when I was sitting around a stranger’s house at 2:00 a.m., surrounded by a room full of empty beer bottles and a bluegrass jam, trying to pick up a girl with a nastily-stained white t-shirt.

“Life is complicated

It’s wearin’ my ass out

Seems like I spend half my time

Wondering what the hell somebody’s talking about

They always think I’ll understand ‘em

Better if they shout

Sometimes I just can’t believe

How much there is out there to doubt”

– Tommy Womack

Every Sunday, I venture out to the local soccer complex where my former B-league club, Stumptown All-Stars — more affectionately known as (the) All-Stars — fearlessly take the pitch for another intense match. And there is usually no shortage of Latino players on any given Sunday, or any day of the week for that matter, at most of the fields in town.

I’m not one of those guys who immediately wonders if any or all of them are illegal aliens nor do I really care much. But I have thoughts albeit different ones; thoughts to their story. How did they get here? And why?

I once overheard this comment from an opposing player when a group of Latino players arrived for their game:

“They must have just gotten off the bus,” he said (with a British laugh) only within earshot of a handful of acquaintances and teammates. I wondered if he had just gotten off the plane. Perhaps he was right, but how could he have any idea of their status?

There are a couple of teams in the league which feature almost a full lineup of Latino players. And there is no question that they take their soccer seriously — at least more seriously than the All-Stars — but not anymore than a lot of the other clubs dominated by American players, who seem to think they are playing in the MLS. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that soccer players — of any ethnicity — are the biggest prima donna crybabies in the world; especially in the World Cup.

I suppose this so-called “immigration problem” is an issue that hits home with me since I worked with a lot of Latino men and women in the orchard business, who I don’t know for sure were legal. And so it’s a long debate of the many intricacies surrounding illegal immigration, ranging from stresses on the health care system to its effect on wages and jobs in the U.S.

I was interested to learn recently that one of the problems with hiring American workers in the landscaping business — young people especially — is that they sometimes will not last on the job, many quitting after a few days due to the demands of hard labor. Which results in losses — lost time and investment — for the business owner, making it very attractive to hire illegals.

But my hypothetical question is this … If you lived below poverty level in Pennsylvania but could move to New York, make twenty times the amount of money — even though it was illegal — with the likelihood of not getting caught, would you do it for your family?

The biggest problems in this country do not involve illegal aliens although we like to believe so. We find it convenient to point toward these things without truly analyzing the broader scope of issues within ourselves and our own government, which has made illegal immigration an issue due to its blunders and missteps not only at home, but also abroad in the never-ending quest of imperialism; its warring business; and its current Team America: World Police of Dubya & Co.

Issues like immigration come to the forefront when leaders are too busy meddling in affairs of other countries — when it is unwarranted — while forgetting to manage their own backyard.

Last year, I went on a quest to better understand the foibles of government past and present — a conscious effort of brainwashing if you will — and so I picked up A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn, which is a very intriguing read, although admittedly, I haven’t finished it. It gives an account from “the people” affected by government — in many cases, the disenfranchised — rather than the usual run-of-the-mill school text book, government-style perspective. It helped me to get in touch with my inner hippie, liberal commie, anti-establishment side.

So putting my hummus plate and veggie burrito aside for a moment, I wouldn’t say that illegal immigration is not an issue, but it is not THE issue.

Sure, I get a little frustrated when some of the Latino soccer clubs bring out a mariachi band to midfield after scoring their tenth goal against us. But I’m just pissed because they humiliated us, and not because I think they are all freeloading border jumpers.

And even if they are, soccer still sucks in America pal, further proving illegal immigration is a secondary issue to the real American problem.

“White Americans, what?
Nothing better to do?
Why don’t you kick yourself out?
You’re an immigrant too.
Who’s usin’ who?
What should we do?
Well you can’t be a pimp
And a prostitute too”

— White Stripes

Politics can be a lot like sports, but not nearly enough — as far as I’m concerned — when it comes to hiring and firing of the people who manage the land; your land; my land.

When someone isn’t getting the job done in baseball — batting average dropping below .200 — they usually get benched or traded. If you’re a star, it’s a different story — because then, you have already proven yourself, people trust you, and you have respect. Slumps happen, and you’ll probably bounce back. Otherwise, we’ll see you in the minors — or perhaps your career is just over.

When it comes to politics — the commander in chief specifically, the general manager — we have to endure the strikeouts in the clutch for four consecutive years unless someone is, of course, “not a crook.” And sometimes you might get fired for just being involved in a scandal of Lewinskian proportions. Which makes me wonder if Bill Clinton was using performance-enhancing drugs.

So what if we could trade George W. Bush to another nation?

See, the problem is we could only release him, because chances are, we couldn’t get any draft picks, cash, or governors to be named later. Most civilized countries just wouldn’t come to the table on it. Well, we could probably get that loose cannon from North Korea I guess. But we’re not in the business of even trades at the moment.

Perhaps we could demote Bush instead?

“Look Dubya, they need a mayor back down in Salome, West Texas.” (Everyone keep it quiet that Salome is a fictional town from the movie Tin Cup. )

No wait, I change my mind. We should be able to fire him in the middle of the season — just like big league managers. “Sorry, G.W., but our country is 27 games out of first place … we need to bring in someone fresh to tinker with the lineup.”

Bush’s run in the White House is worse than the Cubs; he’s not even lovable.

We all need to find our inner Steinbrenner — just clean house every once in a while — and be totally hostile in putting together a better team, no matter what it takes. Sure, the Steinbrenners are meddlesome — perhaps a little misguided — but at least passionate about the team.

New Yorkers are the perfect protesters. They don’t put up with a debacle whether it’s a point guard, head coach, manager or president. You think Isiah Thomas could possibly come back for one more term after the years he had? Joe Torre got canned for making the playoffs 12 straight seasons.

That’s the problem with us as Americans. We’re not vocal enough when it comes to politics; we’re the owners, remember? So let’s go out and hire Theo Epstein away from the Red Sox and maybe we can end the curse of the “Dumbino.” Until then, I guess we’ll just sit around having profanity-laced tirades that only Ozzie Guillen and Lee Elia could muster during a bad streak.

While there are a few devoted American patriots, there aren’t nearly enough carrying the “Fire Bush” signs at home games in Washington. I guess most of us can’t afford the gas to get up there — or perhaps are out of the country dodging car bombs.

I’m Den Cotton and I approve this message.

“Dissent is the highest form of patriotism”

– Howard Zinn