I really don't understand in-group / out-group thought processes. In looking back, to a substantial extent I never did- I've never been wildly committed to a particular sports team, for example, and have always been a bit of a social chameleon. I think there might have been a while there that, owing largely to my father's influence, I was somewhat patriotic, but I can't even say that for sure.

I don't remember who it was, and, after a brief Google search, I think it's better that I don't spend the time digging through tripe in order to properly source it, but I've heard it opined by some right-wing commentator that liberalism and progressivism are mental disorders.

While I'm obviously disinclined to label it the same, I will admit that it really seems that my brain does function in a fundamentally different way from those of a lot of other people, and that differing attitude is predictive of political stance.

How much of that is inborn, and how much is a function of environment? I'm likewise unsure. I didn't grow up in particular excess, by any means, but by and large I didn't have to directly worry about survival issues. And while I have lived well below the poverty line for virtually all of the intervening years, I have by and large avoided the particularly terrible choices- I never turned- quite- to crime, never joined the military, and was only briefly homeless- and, even then, just lived in my car.

I don't necessarily buy the whole notion that conservatism is linked to hardship, though, so I don't really have a pat answer. Whatever the cause, though, the whole question does certainly baffle me.

Most recently, I listened this morning to a story on NPR about conveyor-belt style courts set up in US border (southern, naturally) states to try and convict illegal immigrants of immigration offenses before sending them packing. The notion is apparently to try to further deter illegal immigration as an option for people and thereby exercise greater control over the border.

...to which I say, simply, "why?"

From a selfish perspective, the economies in border states rely heavily on migrant labor- even the ultra-conservatives don't really contest this fact- and the costs associated with a program like this are relatively staggering. (I don't have figures in front of me, but if you figure that you're keeping multiple judges and a horde of lawyers plus support staff and LEOs employed full-time in this endeavor, that adds up very, very quickly.)

From a humanist perspective, though? You're not going to make someone less likely to take the only options afforded them to take care of themselves and their families; a nebulous "you're breaking the law, it will make it harder to come across the border legally!" is pretty toothless next to "you and your children are hungry" as far as scary realities go. And, in exchange, you are continuing to shove an accepted practice underground (thereby creating some horrific human rights problems), you are slapping people in a no-win situation with a misdemeanor record (thereby virtually ensuring that they continue to be unable to immigrate or support themselves legally), and you are tying up significant amounts of the judicial systems in these areas playing a game of xenophobic whack-a-mole.

And all of this- ALL of it- is in the interest of defending what is quite literally an imaginary line in the sand.

On that note, I have this notion for a political art project whereby I would go around the world and assemble a collection of images of the actual borderlands between different governmental entities. Some will be obvious- the Columbia river, for example, that divides Oregon and Washington. Or the heavily fortified no-man's land between the Koreas. Most, though, are really just unremarkable stretches of land. There is no line on the ground, no indication when you cross over from one territory to the next. It's dirt on both sides...

Of course, that may simply be an excuse to indulge the travel bug...

Somehow, I've turned into a man who owns and uses an iron.

It's entertaining how some objects are infused with an irrational, almost mystical significance to us, well beyond their actual import.  Cliche examples include things like floral curtains in the kitchen, a minivan, or a mortgage.  In one way or another, they represent a surrender of the personal freedoms and happy-go-lucky attitudes that we've left behind.  They generally make perfect sense on a rational level and oughtn't stress us out, but for some reason, they do.

A prime example from my prior experience was dessert plates.  I'd been engaged for a little over a year and my mother-in-law-to-be (a title which requires almost as many dashes as she inspired me to take) and fiancee were busily sifting through a thrift store looking for things to bring home to furnish our house; as she'd moved in with me shortly after college, the majority of the items in it were mine, and, to be fair, the place had a decidedly bachelorish feel to it, even two moves, two hundred miles, and a year later.

So, on a rational level, I understood this needed to happen.  The cat tree.  The cat to go with it.  The little towels and soaps for company.  A hundred little things that she needed to make the place feel like hers, and, by and large, I was perfectly happy with the process.

Then came the battle of the dessert plates.

Something in me just utterly dug in its heels and quietly screamed bloody murder at the very notion of a set of tiny little plates set aside just for desserts.  In retrospect, it was a rather silly thing to get up in arms about, but in the moment, this was my Alamo.  These dainty little things had no place in my home!  And, what's more, they were irrational- what purpose could they possibly serve that a full size plate couldn't?  This far, and no further!

To my credit, I lost that battle rather quickly and quietly, but I still remember the soul-shrinking revulsion at all they represented.

Fast forward to today, when I caught myself singing while I ironed a set of dress shirts.  With an iron I'd gone out and bought intentionally.  Wearing a set of dress shirts I'd gotten on sale and was quite excited about.  Echoes of the malcontented teenage metalhead reverberated around my brain, not even bothering to speak, just withered me with a disgusted and disbelieving stare.

Of course, I can say a lot of things in favor of it.  I like to look good.  Wrinkled dress shirts look tacky.  At least I don't have to wear a tie with them or cut my hair.  I'll go ahead and wail on my guitar afterward, just to demonstrate that I still can.

But still, I have to wonder...  When on earth did I become a man who owns an iron?