Now What?

Then suddenly you wake up one morning and you don't have shit to do. You studied for weeks-- months. Then, you go to an awesome hotel resort and forget it all. And, then, there you are. 5:30AM and you're wondering what to do with the day. Now what? Then suddenly you wake up and realize you need a job. That's what's "now what." I've decided that "now what"s suck.

It seems that I'm forever thinking, or saying, "If I could just get this (whatever "it" is), then everything will be cool." Then, I get it and find out that it sucks. Not sucks like cancer or anything else terminal. But just sucks like a summer cold.

So here I sit, sipping coffee and pouring through the job postings on Careerbuilder.com and Monster. Once again thinking, "If I could just get a job to hold me over until I get my bar results, everything will be cool." But it won't. I'll get some job and it will suck in some "itch in the back of your throat" kinda way. Then, I'll sit there at that job, wallowing in all of it's sucking glory and wonder, "Now what?" Maybe the key to happiness and continued satisfaction is to appreciate right here and right now. Or just accept that some things are supposed to suck. They are doing exactly what they are supposed to do, and I should just accept it--and leave it. Who knows?

Maybe I should just end this twaddle right here.

Broadmoor Samadhi

Zen. It's something that I practice daily and live my life by. I think the Broadmoor Hotel Resort in Colorado Springs is the rich man's Zen. I left there with a renewed appreciation for the things that matter in life, or, more importantly, recognized what doesn't matter.

Over an exam. I was stressed like an air traffic controller on 9/11 over an exam. What a fool. Shit like an exam doesn't matter. I will pass, either this time or next. And it won't matter then, either.

Social conventions and institutions don't matter. In the least. All of our preening and posturing for the Jones'. Unimaginably silly. All our concerns about what people think of us. Profoundly retarded.

Funny, though, among all of that tranquility and understanding waiting to be understood, materialism and stupidity abounded. I loved it anyway.

Garden Of The Gods

Samantha and I thought we should get out and about--off campus. If something could humble me, this is what "it" would look like. And it would have a name like "Garden Of The Gods."

I have more pics, but blogger is having an aneurysm.

View From Our Balcony

You gotta love breakfast with a view. Colorado Springs has some amazing views.

The Golden Bee

Well we got hungry and so, at the recommendation of a friend, we stopped at the Golden Bee. Got the best steak, mushroom and potato pot pie ever. And a yard of beer. Check out the pic.

So yeah I'm that guy that's always trying new shit. This is a beer that has a hot chili pepper in it. Strange sensation. Cold and fucking hot. Who thought this shit up?

Let's Get This Started

Now that's what I'm talking about

Sam needs to renew her tags before we get this party started. The mundane always seems to get in the way of a good time. How do I kill mundane?

The Bar Exam Is Over For Now

The pain of the bar has abated, for now. Yep, for now I'm downing a colossal amount of alcohol. For now, Samantha doesn't trust me to drive. Nor should she. But tomorrow, or today now. We're heading down to Colorado Springs. My wife, being the completely sublime woman that she is, thought that after the weeks of fretting about the bar and the two days taking it, that I needed to get out of town for awhile. So she booked us a room at some four-star hotel in the Springs. I'm so feeling that.

Anyway, I'll drop some pics and postings as I go along, but be warned: I tried making this post yesterday from my phone, and the only that posted accurately was the picture. In fact, it didn't post yesterday as intended. So if a post reads like the english of a third grader, it ain't me.

The American Dream

It's odd. Sometimes, in the throes of insominia, I think about getting what I want. I want to pass the bar. To be a licensed, practicing lawyer. But then I wonder. What if I get exactly what I want. Will I want it then?

Spend 10-12 hours of day, day after day, wasting away behind a faux oak desk and artificial light as a fungible revenue generator for some fucking goliath of a firm. A corporate slave.

Working for some fucker whose only talent was being too fucking lazy, or absurdly unambituous, that he waited everyone else out and now he's partner. Fuck. Have the huge house that you never spend anytime in. The sweet car that sits in traffic during your fucking commute and a wife and children that you don't even know because you spend all of your waking hours thinking up new and inventive ways to kiss your boss's ass and move up the corporate ladder. As if it fucking matters. Welcome to your abomination of a fucking life.

Hurried Randomness

Just some random thoughts before I head to the library to do a vulgar amount of practice questions.

I have been waiting on it, but it still hasn't happened. It's probably a result of our herd instinct. We would rather conform than think. Well, I think the American public, or, at least, someone in our "objective media" should give it a shot. Because Bush is making a pretty disturbing statement, and someone needs to call him on it.

In the past he's shown himself to be irrationally enamored with the pro-life position. Then, he vetoed the proposed stem cell legislation. In both instances he reasoned (I use "reasoned" in the most charitable of ways here), and I surmise, that we are killing innocent children. That we "can't cross that moral boundary." Well, then, why is he condoning the killing of Lebanese children? Honestly, you don't have to be well versed in politics to see that there is some bullshit at play here. Oh, and I don't want to hear that bullshit about who started it, either. This isn't fucking recess.

Let's see, what else? Oh, I'm fucking sick of the Barry Bonds story. Just, please, I beg of the media, let if fucking go. Seriously, what we know about steroids is, eventually, it will kill you. So if Barry wants to kill himself one CC at a time, who am I, or you, to get in his way. Have at it. I know, I know. "But he's cheating." And he's the only one. Get off his nuts alfuckingready. It's fucking baseball. You would think he's digging mass graves or some shit.

Oh, one other thing. Here's a blog that doesn't suck. You should check it out when you get a chance.

http://www.blogofcarrie.blogspot.com

Oh, wait, I lied. One more thing. I used to think that no one sucked like Dubya. I stand corrected. UN Ambassador John Bolton sucks way more than Bush. More on that later. I gotta get out of here.

What's the Limit?

Equitable redemtion is a term that refers to the interest of the mortgagor in a title jurisdiction after default. It was in this situation that the mortgagor needed the aid of equity to provide relief from the conveyance, which at law had become absolute in the mortgagee. Just in case you found yourself catastrophically bored, and giving a shit about real property securities.

Who Are You?

Straight up. Who the fuck are you? Do you ever wonder? Not your bank account, accomplishments or lack thereof. When you set aside the conventions masquerading as the criteria for a life well lived, who are you? Do you know? If you live in a psychopathically capitalistic society like America, maybe you can just peek into your wallet, or, perhaps, your driveway and figure it all out.

I have no idea, but Trev, Sam and I had a few drinks tonight and we mulled it over.

"Hey, ever wonder who the fuck you are," Trev asked. I glanced over, took a sip of my room temperature beer. And decided to pretend to ignore him. Samantha gave me the, "he's-drunk-enough-to-say-something-stupid-so-I'm-glad-we're-at-our-house look." I smirked and drained my beer.

I unfolded from the couch, on my way to the fridge. "Anyone need a brew," I tossed. A few beats of silence. Then Trev, "I'll take a fresh one." Fred wraps a tail around my leg as I stand in front of the fridge. His way of letting me know he might take a snack or two. Cool, you little furry, lovable bastard. I grab a couple of beers from the fridge. Then it dawned on me. Trevor isn't going to let this shit go. No one asks, "Hey, you ever wonder who the fuck you are" and then drops it. This is going to be something.

I poured Samantha the rest of her margarita. She doesn't drink much, but when she does--margaritas. I started thinking about getting Trev out of here, and maybe taking advantage of my increasingly inebriated wife. I check the microwave clock: a little after midnight.

"Hey, Sam. You want the rest of your marg?"

"Sure." She said sleepily. Yep, might as well drink up and hear what knowledge Dalai Trev has to drop on me right quick. I strolled into the living room. Sam is flipping through the CD collection. I hand Trev his drink. I move to the couch next to Sam. Hand her the remainder of her marg.

"Thanks."

"Naturally." An exchange of glances. Trev looks impatient.

"So, what the fuck were you talking about again? And, seriously, if you get all self-help section on me, you're walking home." I said. He takes a deep pull on the fresh beer.

"No seriously," he holds up his hand asking me to hear him out. I shrug telling him for sure; if you say something crazy, I'm confiscating that brew--it's the last one.

Another sip, and then he sets it down. Samantha selects a CD and heads to the stereo. It looks like Anthony Hamilton. Nice.

"Okay," Trev starts, " One time we were talking and you said that you believed that people change all the time because who you are, is a sum of your experiences. And you are constantly experiencing new things, so you are constantly evolving and becoming someone different."

"How drunk were you," Sam asks over her shoulder. I have the remote sitting next to me. "Honey." She looks. I show it to her. She gestures as if to say, "I'm right in front of the stereo, drunkard." I nod as if to say, "Good point." I decide I need to talk to the person in the room drunker than me. To Trev, "Yeah, I remember." Not really. I had to be drunker than shit to say some mood ring bullshit like that.

"Well, what do you know about yourself? Who the fuck are you?" I'm not drunk enough to deal with this, and I'm wondering where the fuck this is going. I run my hand over my head, I need to shave. I take a swallow of beer. As Anthony Hamilton starts the first of his gritty, soulful ballads I do my best impersonation of someone who hasn't heard a word of anything.

"Well?" Trev asks. I'd rather have a vasectomy than have this fucking conversation. I shrug. "All you have for me is this?" He mocks my shoulder shrug. Sam gets a big kick out of this.

"I'm straighter than the hair on a Native American. I know that shit." I'm thinking beer run. Trev, apparently, isn't.

"What else?"

"Who the fuck are you, Trev?" Asks Samantha. I guess she was growing weary of the clumsy philosophical explorations.

"Funny you should ask," he smirked. He laid back on the ottoman and begins.

"You know that girl I was telling you about? The one I work with?"

I nod in the affirmative. "The boss's daughter."

"Right, right," he starts laughing. Now my curiosity is piqued.

"Well, I finally asked her out the other day. So we started the evening out with a few drinks."

"You went out with your boss's daughter? Where were you the last time you saw your fucking mind, Trevor," Sam says. "That's career suicide. Well, it wouldn't be if you actually treated the women in your life with a modicum of respect, but that not being the case; when do you suppose you're getting fired?" I nearly spit my beer across the room.

Trev shrugged and said, "Could be any day now. But I don't have a career. I have a series of jobs that fucking eat shit. So I don't really give a fuck," he continues "Plus, I have never done anything to any woman who didn't have it either coming to them, or that they consented to--albeit sometimes that required a little interpretation."

"Liberal interpretation, fuck boy." I said.

"So? Do you want me to finish my fucking story or what?"

"Please, continue," Sam offers.

"Okay, so we went to Harpo's and had a few brews. We were both getting hammered and hungry, so I suggested we go grab something to eat."

"Where'd you go," I asked expecting to hear the usual--Taste of India--which is where he normally takes his dates.

"O'Sullivan's." Nice. Awesome food there. "Anyway, that's not the point. So we're sitting at O'Sullivan's and it becomes pretty clear that I'm going to be fucking the boss's daughter here in a bit." He pauses, takes a sip of beer. I'm looking at him as though I'm the expectant father in the birth room. "Well, you know, it'd been awhile since I'd hit a piece."

"A piece," Sam says. I knew that was coming. Trev doesn't have the "there's a woman in the room" filter.

"So I'm sitting there and I'm thinking, 'I don't want to be the two-pump chump.' You know what I'm saying?! Fuck that, chicks talk." Out of all the possible solutions to this particular dilemma, I'm really curious as to which one he chooses. I couldn't decide between either a condom that desensitizes a bit, or more foreplay, or just be prepared to put some work in. I eyed my beer. If he goes with the desensitizing condom, I'll make a beer run.

"So?" I asked.

"Well," he chuckled, " I ordered a couple more beers, closed the tab, and then told her I had to use the restroom." Now I'm really wondering where the fuck this is going. He looks at me and Sam as if we should know where this is going. I glance at Sam, she's as clueless as me.

"I fucking jerked off in the bathroom!" No beer run.

"You fucking jerked off in a public restroom?!" I couldn't believe it. Sam stared and just shook her head in disbelief. "What did you say took you so long," she asked.

"There was a line."

"You know, of all the possible solutions to your problem, why did you settle on that one?"

"It was the easiest. What other solutions, anyway?"

"I would have went with the desensitizing condoms, and just put in some major work."

"They have those? That would fucking suck."

"Are we having this conversation, or did you put something in my drink," Sam says. I shrugged.

"Yeah, but there's more to the story," he says. Everything else seems to be a bit anti-climatic.

"You couldn't get it up because she wanted to fuck sooner than you thought?"

"No, but that did kind've occur to me after the fact--on the way to her dad's house." He laughs.

"Her d..? You fucked the boss's daughter in your boss's house," I asked.

Trev is laughing his ass off at this point and Sam is getting a good chuckle out of this, too.

"Dude, and excuse me, Sam; I fucked the shit out the boss's daughter in his bed," he's rolling hysterically now. Then, through tears of laughter," I wiped my cock off with the drapes hanging in his room!"

I'm fucking floored. I think Sam is going to pee her pants she is laughing so hard. I have laughing cramps and Trev can't fucking breathe. After our paroxysm of laughter passes. He looks at us and asks, "So who the fuck would you say I am?"

"Someone who believes that their cock is the center of the universe," Sam says. He nods, "Good enough for me."

Still Surreal

So some kid just screamed like he remembered his circumcision. I bullshit you not. I was sitting there, getting all flustered over Wills and Trusts, and this paranormal wailing wafts over the entire library. Yeah, that sucks doesn't it?

That's not the worst. A woman, I presume the mom, screams back--and louder, I'd like to point out--"Will you please; just shut up!" Wow.

What type of slack-jawed, veggie parenting skills are these? Please, go to the light. Go to the light. The only thing screaming at a child gets you is bludgeoned to death once he hits his teens. You just gave that little boy among his first reasons to skulk into your room, in about 15 years, and beat you to death.

Get your popcorn ready. College Hill Library gone wild.

College Hill Library

I sat there in stunned silence. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Is that a daycare? Are those cellphones I hear ringing? Is that guy really talking at the top of his lungs about how smashed he's going to get this weekend? A murder of women sit down at the table adjacent to mine and promptly begin cackling on about their grandchildren and their latest knitting project. Absolutely surreal. Dali lives.

You may be asking yourself what's so out of the ordinary about any of this. People are arrogant, and generally overestimate their importance. So what's so unusual about someone not turning off their cellphones, or, at least, turning it to vibrate. What's so unusual about screaming and joyous kids running amok in the summertime? It's summer, after all. And what about five elderly women discussing their grandchildren and knitting projects strikes me with the intense irrational reality normally reserved for dreams?

Well, nothing, if those cellphones and attending annoying conversations occurred in the grocery store, department store, mall, or restaurant. I love kids and look forward to having some of my own one day, so I don't begrudge the wide-eyed exuberance of children. In fact, it's fun to watch. Elderly women sitting around and talking about their lives, what they've seen, and where they've been is at once charming and fascinating--most often. Sometimes it's just painfully cliched.

But, you see, what makes this scene so Dalian is that it occurred in a library. That's right; a library. That place characterized by its obsessive devotion to silence. That thing that I seek out when trying to memorize the Rule of Perpetuity. That stillness that, somehow, almost magically, allows you to recall a professor's lecture regarding intended beneficiaries, delegations and assignments. Shattered. Dropped from the third story to the awaiting concrete below. The terminal deceleration of silence.

I'm probably being a bit melodramatic. But I wouldn't know where to begin giving a shit. I'm studying for the bar, which will be administered in about nine days, and I'm going to start stuffing bodies in my trunk if I don't get some silence tomorrow.

You know, in case you care, I have just formed the requisite intent to kill element of murder. So, if I really did kill someone tomorrow, and wasn't just saying that as an expression of my frustration and anxiety(which I am), I would get the death penalty, in most states. Now you sit there and pretend I give a fuck.

More Laughter

Okay, I'm down to the last couple of weeks before I take the bar examination. So, naturally, I'm doing some cramming, which means I don't have a lot of time to post. I did, however, get this Email that I thought I would share.

The Kern County, California, Sheriff's Department orders plain white patrol units and has the graphics applied locally. In this case, what they ordered was not quite what they got.

This car was driven for 1 week before an officer noticed what the graphics company employee did on the passenger side of the car. The employee did this on his last day working for the graphics company before he retired.

Through The Eyes Of Simon

I just lifted my head from a constitutional law practice test. Just for a second, foraging for the doctrine of abstention, and it hit me. Odd what you take notice of, while staring out of a library window.

They were just sitting there. You know, the way buildings do. All expressionless and what have ya. Two subdivisions. One, furthest to the west, a bit older, needing paint jobs, maybe a lawn or two needing some attention, modest in size and not covenant controlled--a multitude of RV's reside here. The other, further east, professionally constructed landscapes, covenant controlled--definitely, fresh paint jobs, and enormous.I bullshit you not, it has white picket fences. Even more striking than the contrasting house sizes and its Stepford Wives ambience, a commercial district is being constructed in the middle of the two subdivisions. Currently, it's mostly underdeveloped open space. But that's not all I noticed as I drove through the respective lots, in the early afternoon.

As I drove through the more modest lot, I took notice of the lawns and RV parking--as I mentioned--but I also noticed the people. Some were sitting on their porches. Some retrieving the mail. A woman was playing catch with her daughter. A Subaru--not an uncommon sighting in Colorado, to be sure--with a bumper sticker that read, "Thinking is patriotic," and an American flag was the centerpiece of the sticker. More striking, despite my extensive meandering, I didn't see any realtor signs. Doesn't seem like people are eager to, or must, move out of this neighborhood.

In contrast, in the more affluent area, I saw Cathedral entry ways, European cars in the driveways, three and four-stall garages, and no people. But plenty of realtor signs. People were leaving this area.

Difficult to know what to make of the realtor signs, other than some people get themselves in over their heads and others don't. Some people drank the Kool-Aid (read: believed the bullshit about the economy getting better) and others didn't. But the monument of commercialism being raised between the subdivisions tells part of the American story, to me.

We live in a society that is divided, not only along racial lines, but, also, socioeconomic class lines. The assumption that you are the sum of your possessions inures. You are your wallet. Congratulations.

Into Every Life a Little Laughter Must Fall

Two bored casino workers are waiting at the crap table.

A very attractive blonde from the hills of NC arrives and bets $20,000 on a single roll of the dice.

She said, "I hope ya'll don't mind. I feel much luckier when I'm completely nude."

With that she stripped completely nude, rolled the dice and yelled, "C'mon baby! Momma needs new clothes!"
As the dice came to a stop, she jumped and down screaming, "Yes! Yes! I won! I won!" She then hugged each of the dealers, picked up her winnings and her clothes and quickly departed.

The dealers stared at each other dumbfounded. Finally one of them asked, "What'd she roll?" The other says, "I dunno. I thought you were watching."

What's the moral of the story?

Not all rednecks are stupid, and not all blondes are dumb. But all men are men.

Paternalism

It's funny the things you notice and think about at a stop light. The traffic camera just to the right of the stop light. Government as voyeur. Peering into your life, ostensibly just to monitor traffic and send out speeding tickets. Welcome to 1984. Or maybe New World Order, 52,000,000 people loving the soma. Amazing.

I look to my left, and there's a man, probably mid-40's, in an older model, small pickup truck. Probably a work truck. You know the look of a work truck when you see it. Older model, a few dents and rust for character, perhaps needing a new paint job. The white paint riddled with chips and occasionally baring metal. But that's not what was particularly interesting about this truck.

The driver had one hand, his left hand, on the steering wheel. With his right hand he was alternately sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette. For whatever reason, probably the whole driving thing, he never took his left hand off the wheel. He would set his coffee down, pluck his cigarette from the ashtray, take a puff, return the cigarette to the ashtray, and pick up his coffee. The zero sum game of vices. In order for the coffee jones to win, the nicotine jones has to lose. For the nicotine jones to win, the coffee jones has to lose. The light turns green and the truck's manual transmission lurches and labors away from the light. I pull away from the light and the truck begins to disappear in the rearview mirror. But the dance of vices lingered. It's funny where mental meanderings begin.

Similar to the zero sum game of vices, western thought performs its own zero sum dance. If you don't believe me, just listen. It's in the judicial system, political discussions, and our daily decision making--like deciding whether to smoke or drink coffee.

Within any of these environments you will hear one idea, or perspective, advanced to destroy or subordinate an opposing viewpoint or idea. An adversarial way of thinking. For one to exist the other must be destroyed or subverted. In fact, I ran across an example of this type of thinking on this site.

I recently published a post discussing the Colorado smoking ban. In it I addressed what I think is a fallacious argument advanced by disgruntled smokers. The focus of this discussion was whether or not smoking is a right. In response someone authored a post indicating that the smoking ban was an example of the state as parent and that it's just wrong. I don't know. I could agree that it's paternalism, perhaps. But I don't know that I agree with the assertion that it's wrong.

When we're discussing paternalism and its opposing viewpoint of autonomy, what we are discussing is the notion of individual freedom. Those that ascribe to paternalism generally believe powerful individuals, or the hegemony of powerful organizations, are the primary threats to individual freedoms. Therefore, in order to stem the hegemony, the law should regulate private transactions to ensure that various transactions are truly borne of free will. While autonomists hold it true that government is the primary threat and, so, the government should always facilitate, rather than regulate, individual freedom and choice. So it would seem that this tension could never be fully assuaged.

If the court always selected for autonomy, then all contracts entered into would be enforceable, even if one party entered into the contract under threat of death. After all, he entered into the contract rather than die. So he made the choice. On the other hand, if the court always selected for paternalism, then there would never be a transaction or decision free from judicial and government intervention. So the court really can't always select for either of these policies.

Rather the courts have to adopt a pragmatic attitude. Sometimes a policy that's given a lot of weight and consideration in one context, isn't given quite as much consideration in another. Each case is considered individually and a result is arrived at by trying to predict the consequences of the decision. At times, it's thought adopting autonomy will yield the most beneficial result. Other times, paternalism.

So I agree that the smoking ban is probably an example of paternalism. I also agree with the courts/government that it's the most beneficial policy in this context. If you hate that, well, relax, autonomy will probably rule the day next time.

You know, it just occurred to me. Maybe the truck driver was just exercising a little pragmatism. I guess perception and attitude is everything.

Heineken Light

Not usually one for light beer. The way I see it, if you shouldn't be drinking beer--don't.The only benefit that a watered down version of your favorite brew provides is an undeserved sense of restraint. Well, I stand corrected. I decided to try Heineken Light this evening. Recommended. Not as good as the original, but really good. Good enough that I'm taking a piss and trying to blog at the same time. Sober people don't do shit like this. By the way, blogging from your cellphone sucks, actually

Oh, and, all this shit Verizon puts at the bottom of the pictures is enough to make me start slapping them to the ground. Can you hear me now, bitches? Gotta edit this later.

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Smoking Ban

Yesterday the state wide smoking ban went into effect. No more smoking in bars and restaurants. I'm all in favor of the ban. No more coming home from the bars, or a restaurant smelling like an ashtray. Of course, the smokers are all up in arms.

The Denver Post ran an article this morning reporting that smokers are less than thrilled, and claim the law encroaches upon their right to smoke. It would seem, however, this argument assumes what has to be proven. Is smoking a right?

The distinguishing characteristic of a right is that it regulates the conduct of others in relation to that right. It imposes a duty onto others. Rights and duties. Typically, one doesn't exist without the other. We have a right to life. That means that others have a duty not to kill you. You have a right to the property you legally possess. Others have a duty to not dispossess you of that property. One choosing to smoke doesn't impose a duty onto others. So it wouldn't seem that smoking is a right. Sure there's the assertion, more broadly, that it's an encroachment on the individual right to choose. But unmitigated egoistic hedonism is generally frowned upon. So we have a duty to make choices that pose no detriment,or risk of harm, to others. It's a brute fact that smoking poses a risk of harm not only to the smoker, but, also, to others in proximity of the smoker. So the argument against the smoking ban is sophistical at best, farcical at worst. At least as it applies to the individual right to choose. What's more, smokers can still choose to smoke, they just have to meet their duty to not harm others.

Now, I have to find my car keys. Samantha and I are going out to eat. Celebrating that we can go out to dinner without leaving the restaurant smelling like eau de Marlboro.

Liberals

I don't know why I did it. I have Sirius radio and an eight-disc CD player in my car. But I did it anyway. I turned on AM radio. I guess acute onset of boredom while sitting in traffic is a corollary of residing in one of America's most congested cities. Because I was suddenly listening to Air America Radio.

The usual two-step: The host was railing against the Republicans and the Bush administration's serial stumblings. Then, a conservative calls in claiming to bestow some logic on the subject. Shouting match ensues. A pretty common and hackneyed engagement, unless, of course, the fact that the sky is blue is a new thing for you. One thing did, however, catch my attention about this particular shouting match.

The conservative caller continually said the word "liberal" and "liberals." Nothing particularly outstanding about that considering both parties seemed to possess a fetish for circumstantial ad hominem arguments, where labels are an inherent part of the game. But what was peculiar is the caller continually said "liberal" as if it were a pejorative term. I found that curious. So, when I got home, I looked up the exact definition of the word "liberal." There were definitions later in the entry suggesting generosity with material possessions and interpretations, but only the first three bare the attribute of relevance here.

1. Broad-minded; tolerant of different views and standards of behavior in others.
2. Progressive politically or socially favoring gradual reform, especially political reforms that extend democracy, distribute wealth more evenly, and protect the personal freedom of the individual
3. Not bound by authoritarianism, orthodoxy and traditional conventions and forms.

And with the same treatment, what follows is the definition of conservative.

1. Reluctant to accept change in favor or preserving the status quo and traditional values and customs, and against abrupt change.
2. Traditionalist person; someone who is reluctant to consider new ideas or accept change.
3. Supporter of conservativism; somebody who supports the doctrine or beliefs of conservatism.

And conservatism.

1. Reluctance to accept change unwillingness or slowness to accept change or new ideas.
2. Right-wing political viewpoint; a right-of-center political philosophy based on a tendency to support gradual rather than abrupt change, and to maintain the status quo.
3. Desire to preserve current societal structure; an ideology that views the existing form of society as worthy or preservation.


So I suppose it could all be a matter of value judgments. But, as someone who not only doesn't want to see the current societal structure preserved, considering its current banes of poverty, widening income disparity, racism, health care, health insurance, etc., but also wants to see it changed abruptly; I'm a liberal. Frankly, I don't see anything wrong with that.