Galt’s Gulch or Bust 2.0 Recocked, Reloaded, Redux

How Eric Robert Morse Saved This Blog

It has been a few months since I have posted.  When I wrote my last post, I washed my hands of this blog and was finished.  Completely done.  I viewed it as a thankless task instead of something I looked forward to and I just couldn't handle it anymore.  Then something very strange happened.

I was clicking around on Facebook the other day, and I saw that a friend had posted a short animation on education reform and homeschooling.  It piqued my interest, and I watched the video.  Then, I started clicking around on this guy’s Facebook page, and found a link to a website promoting a book he had published.  The book was Juggernaut by Eric Robert Morse.  This seemingly small event had a massive impact on my life.

Now, before I proceed with the rest of this story about my blog, let me digress into a narrative to explain how Eric Robert Morse came to be a friend on Facebook.  I met Eric when I was living in San Diego.  Our paths diverged more than once because we ran in a some of the same circles.

Now, luckily for you, this story takes place back in my Marine Corps days.  When men were men, and we two fisted Pabst Blue Ribbon all weekend long.  To set the stage, I had been freebasing the G.W. Bush Neo-Con kool-aid and war fervor for the past few years, I had just come back from a war deployment, my best friend of four years had just got out of the Marines and moved back to Texas, I had turned down a job with a Force Recon unit to take a boring-as-hell instructor position teaching water survival at a swimming pool on base (a decision I regret to this day), and I had just married a woman I had known for only 6 months who hated my family.  I was pretty much all over the map both mentally and emotionally.

For the remainder of this story, I will refer to the woman I was married to at that time as “the ex”.  That relationship was doomed to failure from the start, and we divorced about five years ago.  I am married now to my best friend and the love of my life and I couldn't be happier.

One of the things, actually one of the only things, the ex-wife  and I had in common was politics.  We were both uber-conservatives, and we thought a good way to meet new like minded people would be to get active in the local political scene.  We found an official group of people our age and started attending meetings.  The people I met at these events were pretty cool, and I usually had a good time.  I attended everything from small meetings in local pizza joints, to dinners at 5 star restaurants with State Senators.  For a fine young statist like myself, it was heaven. 

But I quickly started to notice that I did not really fit in with the crowd.  I enjoyed the political speeches and activism, but I was used to hanging out with Marines.  These were the recent college graduates and young professionals.  I was a knuckle dragging Jarhead.  These folks were one wrong decision away from being Marine officers.  They knew nothing of the enlisted Marine’s life.  I was showered with thanks at every event for “serving our country” and “protecting our freedom;” but most of these people were from a different planet as far as I was concerned.  We had nothing in common other than political affiliation.

Now, being an outsider is fine with me.  I have been that way most of my life.  But, couple feeling like an island unto myself with the personal and emotional issues I was dealing with at home and at work, and you end up with a recipe for disaster.  You might be thinking, “If that were me, I would take the high ground.  Try to connect with these people on another level.”  But you would be wrong.  Not this guy!  I was a 24 year old war-hardened veteran.  A steely eyed amphibious killer from the depths of hell.  I had been around the world twice at this point.  So, I did what most any young Marine grunt in my position would have done.  I started power drinking and generally making an ass out of myself at these events.  I was the Tucker Max of the young conservative crowd in San Diego County.  But I digress…

In December, the ex and I found ourselves at a Christmas party in North County.  I completed my typical routine of walking around and shaking hands with everyone, and then making a beeline for the food and alcohol table.  Beer was sort of taboo at most of these events so I had to make due with an assortment of red and white wine.  I was just starting to get loaded when I got another dirty look from the ex.  

She had this face she would make to let me know that something I had said or done was “not acceptable public behavior.”  It usually consisted of her eye brows creeping up dangerously close to her hair line, her eye balls protruding from her head an extra eighth of an inch, and her jaw dropping all the way open.  I think the intention of this look was to show mock amazement at my actions, but in the reality of my world, it made her look like a grass carp with Down Syndrome.  Not one to take a hint, I usually started laughing at this point and went to grab another drink.  Again, I digress.  

I had a few drinks in me, and I met a guy named Joe.  We talked for a little while, and I learned that he had been involved with the group for a long time.  I told him it was nice to meet him, and then I started making my rounds again to swoop by the wine table and refill my glass.  The night was pretty uneventful, but remember Joe, he is central to this story. 

A few months later, I found myself in the Gas Lamp area of downtown San Diego for some kind of social get-together.  I think it was a magazine release party, but I can’t be sure.  This was seven or eight years ago, and those days are kind of fuzzy in my mind anyway.  

The Gas Lamp is the San Diego version of the typical downtown nightlife district that can be found in all major metropolitan areas.  This event was being held in a place I would never walk into with my Marine buddies.  We frequented places that had cold beer, loud music, dirty floors, and lots of sweaty women dancing.  I am a country boy.  I like simple things.  None of that could be found in an establishment like this.  

I am pretty sure the place had a dress code since I was wearing a suit, and when I walked through the door it looked like someone had vomited modern art all over the room.  There wasn't one straight line in the whole damn place.  Not on the walls, the tables, the chairs, the posts that held up the bar stools.  Everything was curved.  I am sure the building contractor make some good money putting this place together, and pulled his hair out trying to accomplish it.  If Dr. Seuss had been an architect, this place would have been his crowning achievement.  The lights were multicolored in yellow, red, blue, and green.  It was supposed to add ambiance, but in reality it just made everything look brown.

This was the kind of place, when you walked into it, you couldn't really tell if it was a bar or one of those hipster jazz coffee house places.  If Sex and the City had been filmed in San Diego, this bar is one of the locations they would have used for the shoot. It was frequented by businessmen from out of town who were looking to hook up for the night, 45 year old cougar-women in skimpy red dresses trying to hide the tan lines their wedding rings had made, and at that moment, fifty or sixty young Neo-cons.   

For the record, I get real uncomfortable in places like this.  Its not my scene.  Its not my style.  I get more enjoyment out of catching catfish on a creek bank.  Why was the ex dragging me to places like this?  She knew I wasn't comfortable.  I felt the bile of contempt and disgust creeping up the back of my throat.  I knew right away that it was going to be one of “those nights”.  

Now, again you’re probably thinking, “If that were me, I would take the high ground.”  But not this guy, damn it!  I went straight to the bar, under evil glares from the ex, and proceeded to teach the hot bartender how to make a dirty martini.  I think I had five of them in the first hour and I soon realized that I was out of cash.  I don't use credit cards in bars.  There is too much danger of having it stolen or having extra drinks added to my tab.  I may have been a drunk in those days, but at least I was a smart drunk.  So, having no money got me up off the bar stool in search of the ex.  I told her I was headed up the street to the bank to get some more cash, and out the door I went.

I walked out into full sunshine.  This event was supposed to start as a happy hour event and then run into early evening.  I had a pretty good buzz going at this point already, and I had the vague recollection that there was a bank about 5 blocks up the street with an ATM.  So I started walking up the sidewalk mumbling something to myself about wearing a stupid suit and tie to a stupid bar.  

I am a notorious people watcher.  I think its something I picked up in the Marines.  When a normal person walks down the street, there might be a million things going through their head.  When I walk down the street, I am assessing threats and sizing people up.  Eyes and hands.  Thats what I always look at.  Eyes are the gateway to the soul and they can tell a lot about a person’s intent.  Hands are threat indicators.  They hold potential weapons.  I keep my head up and look five or ten people deep into the oncoming throng.  If I see someone with crazy eyes, I lock onto them and then start looking for their hands.  People might call me paranoid, but this has saved my ass on more than one occasion in the third world and it is a habit I do not care to break. 

So, with my head up and on a swivel I walked four of the five blocks to the ATM.  Midway through block four, I see Joe (from the Christmas party) walking towards me.  I quickly deduce that he is headed down to the bar, and I devise a little plot to mess with him.  I come from a long line of pranksters.  I remember hearing stories when I was a kid about the pranks my grandfather played on his friends when they went fishing and camping.  My father inherited this gene, and taught me the basics of a good prank.  When I entered adulthood, I had a very intricate understanding of how to really mess with someone; but the Marine Corps added a sick, twisted, sadistic side to my pranks.  This usually gets me in more trouble than it is worth, but I get a kick out of it.  

I have seen crazy eyes enough times in my life on other people, so I know how to put them on like a pair of glasses.  This is how my prank on poor Joe went down:  I made my best psycho face, walked up to him, got right in his face, and said, “Gimme all your money!”

Now, try to imagine what went through Joe’s mind at that moment.  He is walking down the street, minding his own business, and a guy he may or may not vaguely remember rushes up to him wearing a business suit and attempts a stick up.  And, what do you think Joe did at that moment?  He did what anyone would do in that situation.  He jumped, ran around me, and then looked back at me in abject horror as I doubled over laughing.  I’m an asshole, what can I say?  

When the laughing stopped, I went to the ATM and took out some money.  Then I headed back to the bar.  When I walked in the door, I could tell something was different.  I saw a group of people gathered around someone telling a story.  Joe was standing in this group, but he had magically changed clothes in the time between my prank and my return to the bar.  My ex was there listening to the story too.  I walked up to the crowd, and as I got closer, I noticed that there... were... two... Joes.  One was standing on the outside of the circle listening to the story, and the other was standing in the center of the circle telling the story.

I was pretty sure I wasn’t hallucinating.  I wasn't drunk yet.  I was buzzed, but I was certainly not seeing double.  How could this be? 

 When I got up to the circle, the Joe in the center pointed at me and said, “Him!  Thats the guy that did it!”  I was able to see his clothes now, and this was the Joe I had pulled the prank on.  I started doing double takes looking from one Joe to the other.  Then it hit me.  THAT WASN’T JOE.

Further conversation would reveal that Joe had a twin brother named Eric.  Eric Robert Morse.  And Eric didn't know me from Adam.  Naturally, I thought this was hilarious, and it took me a while to stop laughing and get the situation straightened out.  

This went over like a fart in church with the ex.  Remember earlier when I told you about the “grass carp look” that she used to give me?  That went out the window.  On this night, I saw a new look come across her face that I can only describe as a the look of a mule chewing on thistle.  It was the look of utter disgust, tinged with a mild hatred that I am sure lasts to this day.  I was ruining her social life right in front of her eyes, and without words, she was letting me know just how pissed she was.  

I apologized to Eric and Joe for the mixup, and we all had a good laugh about it.  Old mule face sat at an amoeba shaped booth for the rest of the night.  Angry.  Fuming.  Plotting all the things she wanted to say when we got home.  I knew what was going to happen later that night.  It would either be the silent treatment and the spare bed for a week, or one of those “wake the neighbor” yelling matches that you are certain will get the cops called on you.  Now, at this point you might be saying, “If that were me, I would take the high ground.”  But you should know me by now.  Not this guy!  I went back to the bar with a pocket full of money and continued to drink dirty martinis with the hot bartender into the wee hours of the morning.

Lessons learned:  
-  Violent crime is not funny.  
-  Mock violent crime is not funny either.  
-  Marine humor is considerably different than the humor accepted by society at large.  
-  Some things are better left unsaid and undone, even if you think they are really funny.  
-  If you want to keep your wife, don't piss her off.  
-  If you don't want to keep your wife, drink as much as you possibly can and embarrass her in public.  
-  Twins confuse the hell out of people who have been drinking.  
-  Dirty martinis taste amazing.

So there you have it folks.  That is the story of how I met Eric Robert Morse, and subsequently just one situation in a long list of disfunction that led to me ending up with an ex-wife.  Cest la vie!

A few years later when I got my honorable discharge from the Marines, I moved back to my home town.  It was during that first year at home that I discovered Facebook.  For those of you with a Facebook page, you know what usually happens when you first sign up.  You try to add every person you have ever met in your life.  I found one or two people from the old San Diego crowd, and then continued clicking the “add as friend” button whenever a suggestion would pop up.  That is pretty much how Eric came to be a Facebook friend.  Like I said, we don't know each other that well.  We ran in some of the same circles a few years back.  I could go into a long diatribe about “friending” on Facebook, but it would be hypocritical.  I am guilty of some of the things I abhor, so we will leave that topic for another day.

Now, back to the present.  Where I am older, wiser, no longer fueled by massive quantities of alcohol, and have a much better understanding of the political and economic structure of America.


I found Eric’s webpage for his new book Juggernaut, and read through the thesis and compendium.  “Wow,” I thought.  “This is some really powerful stuff.”  I can’t wait to read this book, it looks amazing.  Knowing the author is a pretty cool thing for me too.  I am not star struck, I just think its cool.

Then I clicked on the resources tab on the website, to see what kind of material he had cited for further reading, influences, etc.  As I continued to scroll down, one entry popped off the page and hit me between the eyes like a shot from a gun.  He had this blog cited for further reading!

Eric is a painter, writer, photographer, and web designer.  You can view some of his work on his website The Weather Report.  He identifies himself as a Classical Liberal which is a fairly close alignment to my philosophy.  I might be a little more radical than he is, but I think radical is just a state of mind.  Its not what you say, its how you say it.

For him to mention my blog on his website alongside some of my favorite websites like Mises.org and CafeHayek.com literally brought a tear to this Marine’s eye.  The lack of feedback that led to my exit from the blogging world had just turned itself around.  Someone had been reading it all along.  I just never knew.

The spooky thing about all of this is that the domain name registration for this site was set to expire THE FOLLOWING DAY.  If that isn’t God speaking to me, I don’t know what is.

I emailed Eric, told him this whole story, and he encouraged me to continue writing.  He said, "I saw that you had called it quits, but thought the content there was worth linking to anyway."   He has also encouraged me to try writing a book of my own.  I mentioned that my website was a simplified version of some of the more complex sites I read.  Reading publications from the Mises Institute can be like reading Greek if you don't have a basic understanding of Liberty and economics.  He told me that writing a book with the theme of Libertarianism for the Common Man might be a good way for me to organize my thoughts, and possibly get a book published.  I have been mulling over a couple of ideas for some other books too, so who knows, maybe this can work out.  Its worth a shot!

So, in the words of the great philosopher Eminem, “I’m back, nana nana nana nana nana.”  Welcome to Galt’s Gulch or Bust 2.0  Posts will be less frequent from here on out, but I want to bring you, the reader, quality not quantity.  Keep checking back for more!


See you at Galt's Gulch!

Works by Eric Robert Morse

Juggernaut: Why the System Crushes the Only People Who Can Save It

The 90-Minute Effect: How We Shape Our Lives by the Hollywood Formula and Rarely Reach Our Own Happy Endings

Monaco  

Love is Justice: An Exploration Into Mankind’s Fundamental Nature

Justice and Equality: A Dialogue on the Philosophies of Conservatism and Liberalism

Amazement: The Realization of Ideas and Dreams for a Sleeping Society

Works by Joseph SB Morse

Gods of Ruin

Surviving the Second Great Depression:  How to Take Advantage of the Government That Is Trying to Take Advantage of You

Surviving Socialist America:  How to Take Advantage of the Government That Is Trying to Take Advantage of You

Everyone Agrees:  Book I:  Words, Ideas, and a Universal Morality

How to Take Advantage of the People Who Are Trying to Take Advantage of You:  50 Ways to Capitalize on the System

The Evolution Diet: What and How We Were Designed to Eat

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