The Great Awakening

A Chapter by dredland

Opens with fake reviews (funny), then a prologue that tries too hard, followed by the first chapter, which is mercifully short.

Advance Praise for Wandering Serfdom’s Road… (They’re fake)

From a Midsized Market Newspaper

…combines the worst in dull sitcom humor with a dreadful, inarticulate, and incoherent political diatribe. I’m never going to Friday night book club again.

From an Uppity Secular Newspaper

…and while reading this flimsiest of texts I made the troublesome realization that Mr. Redland seems to believe that through terrible self-deprecation and an utterly ridiculous mix of low and high-brow humor that he’s managed to say something serious. The only thing he has managed to say in this overwrought work of under described fiction is that with a good amount of free time and a workable computer any blithering dunce can write a book. This work (if it even warrants that deceptive title) makes you long for the days before the internet and the information revolution in general. After reading the first two pages I was already longing for the wonderful age before the average person had massive quantities of information at his disposal- when only serious people wrote serious books. What I’m about to suggest may surprise you, coming from someone that makes their living in the literary arts, but I think it’s time we returned to the days of book burnings, and I know just the novel to use for the kindling.

From a Former Professor

It’s deplorable, disgusting, abominable, and above all, poorly written. I’ll be honest with you. We give out an “A” for almost anything now. Yet somehow Mr. Redland believes that his marks reflect actual intelligence, and not the normal ebb and flow of grade inflation… Stupid knowledge economy.

From a Disillusioned Reviewer

Reading this book was like being impaled with a two-by-four. It’s a stupid concept, but it’s still horribly painful. If you’re not at least using a coupon, put this one down and go buy something more interesting.

From an Official Web Review

… and then he is always calling himself out on his shortcomings. Mr. Redland seems to think that this is a wonderful source of humor in the book, but he is sadly mistaken. There are so many little sidebars about his awful writing that they cease to be funny. Indeed, they just confirm the reader’s suspicion that this is a terrible piece of work.

From the Authors’ Publisher

Try as it might, the novel lacks any coherence, whatsoever. It needs a definitive story line, and while it does have a few humorous moments, the real humor is watching the author slowly but surely hack his plot to pieces.

From someone who thought The Conscience of a Conservative was an ironic title

…We get it! Enough already! So you think some secular movements are religions disguised as political causes! You could have said that in like, two sentences. You don’t have to belabor the point and abuse the reader’s sensibilities for 300 plus pages. It’s not that funny of an idea, no matter how much you and your right-wing, theocratic buddies laugh at it!

From an Up-and-Coming Starred Reviewer on Amazon

Entertaining, if only for its utter frivolity and the air of shame in which most of the story is submitted. Fabulously ignorant of the facts, events, and characters it tries to satire. I laughed, but it was not the way the “author” intended. However, for Mr. Redland, these problems are not his most ignominious. Let me turn my attention to the narrative. Of course, this begs the question- what narrative is there to speak of? In my esteemed estimation Mr. Redland thinly links together a series of conversations. And you would think that someone who relied on dialogue as the basis of a novel would learn how to construct a conversation in an appealing manner. But that’s just my opinion.

From an Influential Bi-monthly Political Periodical

If you’re reading this review of Wandering Serfdom’s Road then you have already wasted enough time. Still interested? Go ahead, read the text. But remember that before you spent your hard earned money and free time on this worthless excuse of a book I was there, standing athwart history, yelling “Stop!”

From a frustrated print critic

…dubious of the book since I had to review this thing instead of Cormac McCarthy’s new novel. But alas, I turn to the task at hand. To synopsize, it’s a second rate plot done with third rate jokes and fourth rate political philosophy. All in all, a first rate failure. Unfortunately, that’s not the half of it. The whole thing is ridiculous, and many parts of the narrative are written no better than a cell phone text message created by a semi-literate teenager. I didn’t get all the way to the end, in fact, I didn’t even get halfway. Moreover, if you read a couple of chapters of this horrendous tome I’m sure you won’t blame me.

An editor’s note

Clearly, the only humor is in the advance praise section- if only he could have just written an entire book of fake reviews. Oh well, surely someone will buy it.

A comment from a User Review on Amazon

… and it does not disguise the fact that your premise, if you even have one, never takes shape, ever. And except for a couple of potshots at the current state of filmmaking, the whole thing is a colossal bore. I could only get through the first few chapters before I threw it against my wall in contempt. Thanks a lot Drew Redland. I'll never get those precious few hours of my life back!

From a not quite so Uppity Secular Newspaper

…although the idea of three churches is an interesting one. Moreover, the religious imagery is a consistent theme throughout the novel. Who would have thought that an entertaining book could treat monotheism and its pathologies with a sense of fairness? I, for one, always figured that these people had no hearts. But enough about the positive, I’m breaking my one thirds two thirds rule.

Let us dispense with the formalities- so who is this guy’s agent, anyway? I need to know, because I have drawers full of handwritten essays that I always assumed would never pass professional muster. Frankly, this reviewing job just doesn’t pay like it used to, given the recent layoffs and the creeping corporatism in this industry. But I digress. Upon reading this farce of a novel I think it’s fair to surmise that history will show that Mr. Redland put the first crack in the modern literary dam, and he is ultimately responsible for the deluge of awfulness that will pour forward.

From a Guy who finally decided to branch out beyond Genre Fiction

There’s no sex in the book! And the sex that is implied occurs between two married people- old married people, for that matter. The whole thing’s distasteful.

From Publisher’s Weekly

…way, way too many odd references leading one to ask: is he joking? Or is he just flagrantly abusing his power as a storyteller? Although we must admit, this publication has always prized obscurity above plot structure, narrative, and good character development; so if he had coupled his ambiguous opacity with a monotonous bleak outlook we could have recommended him for an award or two.

A Statement Excerpted from the Author’s Alumni University Newspaper

…above all tedious and at times quite boring. But enough about this woeful excuse for a novel- deeming it literature would be an insult to all the true masters of the craft. This newspaper, along with the Universities’ Registrar’s Office has searched for any records indicating that Mr. Redland was indeed a student here. In numerous searches no such records of a Mr. Drew Redland were found, despite his public declarations to the contrary. Where this man came from and how he arrived at his controversial and, frankly, wrongheaded views, we at this university can publicly attest that we have absolutely no idea.

Memo obtained from a Christian company deciding whether or not to release Wandering Serfdom’s Road

… and he calls it Christian so it must be. Besides, he talks about Christianity during parts of his interesting novel, so that’s good enough for us. After all, we’re in this to worship our Creator in the most generic way possible, and although this book is almost too unique for our tastes, it does fall under the broadest of broad umbrellas that we call Christian fiction.

But alas, we do foresee a problem- Mr. Redland does not plan to turn this title into a series, and as every aspiring Christian author knows, if you don’t have a series than you don’t get into our industry. However, we do like his use of humor and his treatment of a subject matter that is rarely talked about, and for these reasons the book might possibly garner an audience.

So, in full consideration of the factors at hand, we stake our soon to be compromised literary reputations on the success of this book. Besides, we can’t rely on Max Lucado forever.

From the Author’s Mother

Amazing! Stupendous! Compelling! Lucid! This book is sheer literary brilliance! Who needs nuance when you can write with this sort of compelling forcefulness? A dynamic work of fiction created by a future American master! I have found my life’s meaning in this novel! Never have I been so proud to be alive!

On second thought, who am I kidding? It’s appalling, not to mention dreadfully unpleasant. Just where did I go wrong?

From an Elitist

…and amusing, if only for the author’s apparent presumption that he has performed a noteworthy feat. What a complete waste of time! A complete waste of time! It’s a book about selfishness, but he’s just abusing the privilege!

Prologue- A Conversation

Plato also wrote dialogues.

“So you’re saying that they formed a church around the concept of worshipping themselves? Had that ever been done before?”

“I don’t think it had. Of course I’m excepting a host of fools who had done it informally, from politicians, to most journalists, to actors, and of course, authors of terribly inept satires.”

“That’s a good point- although I think you’re being a little liberal in your implied definitions of “church” and “religion.” Still the whole idea seems so in your face- you’d think that they would have been more subtle.”

“That’s a quaint idea, but let me remind you that the days of subtlety are over- and it’s been a good long while, I’d say at least twenty or thirty years.”

“Well, even if I conclude that you’re right, I’m still left wondering about the intelligentsia. I thought they thrived on subtlety, nuance, and complexity- not to mention all those lists of various kinds?”

“I guess that’s still true comparatively speaking. But you must know that things are much different now… very different than what you’re used to.”

“But getting back to your point about this Church of Narcissism. That was the title, verbatim?”

“Yes. You have to remember that this movement was an outcropping of the YouTube and reality TV generation- they didn’t use many words of size, but when they found one they liked they used it ad infinitum.”

“Kind of like when Obama gives a campaign speech?”

“I think that’s a fair comparison.”

I guess these Narcissists were just being honest though. I knew many people in my church that worshipped themselves through Christianity.”

“A prescient, if somewhat indulgent observation, and the movement was fueled in part by thousands upon thousands of such fraudulent Christian believers. Worship of the self was just too irresistible for many in that circumstance. Besides, I don’t think I have to tell someone with your background that many churches didn’t offer much of a definitive alternative to a subject as compelling as one’s self.”

Stunned silence.

“Wow, that’s kind of harsh. It’s true though- still, as undeniably appealing as it sounds, not everyone worships themselves now, right?”

“Correct, although I should tell you that there have been other religious movements that occurred during this period as well.”

“Are they more traditional movements?”

“I wouldn’t give them the label of traditional movement, but they didn’t follow the exact logic of the Narcissists.”

“So at least one of these movements was a new religion, with some sort of god outside one’s own heart?”

“Well, it was new in the religious sense, but the idea has a few hundred years’ theory and practice behind it. Are you familiar with ideas and philosophies which posit as axioms that there is nothing outside the material world? Let me put it this way: tell me what you know about the roots of Progressivism.”

“…the roots of Progressivism? I thought this was a satire. Hmm, well, I suppose I am aware of such philosophies. I did attend college. I’m not fond of those lines of thinking, but I am indeed familiar with them.”

“I knew that would be your reaction. I’ve got to say that you never fail to entertain. However, in addition to the Church of Narcissism, a movement began that later became known as The Church of Material Equality, otherwise known as the CME.”

“So it was a political church?”

“Not precisely, they didn’t and still don’t endorse particular candidates or parties- the tax exempt laws are still on the books, and they are enforced with a vigor you are unable to appreciate in your current state.”

“So what do they do- take funds from their rich members and give it to poor parishioners?”

“Crudely put, but yes, wealth redistribution is one of the key doctrines they propagate.”

“I’m missing how all this relates to the roots of progressivism?”

“Seriously? How do you think what I’ve just told you relates to early forms of progressivism, aka, back before it was cool and hip?”

“Well, there was a strong element of total equality, not just equality under the law, but an equality of outcome meant to permeate all aspects of society. From this spawned generations of thinkers who espoused materialism as the highest form of equality. This was the foundation of collectivism, a form of which was Communism, although true Communism is a couple of left turns from mere wealth distribution.”

“Go on, you’re doing a fantastic job.”

“Ok, but I feel like I’m simplistically combining hundreds of years’ worth of developments in political theory into a few short sentences.”

“That’s quite alright for the purposes at hand.”

“Ok then. I guess it continued with the fall of nineteenth century imperialism and some brilliant writing from scholars and men of ideas holding these views. Europe started to incorporate more and more of these themes into their politics. The United States also moved in that direction with the modern Progressive movement, the New Deal and the rise of a stronger intellectual left in the ensuing decades.”

“True, true- anything else?”

“I can’t say for certain, but I would hasten to say that the ascendance of material equality has conquered any remaining notions of the transcendental, not to mention freedom and ordered liberty as high political ideals worth pursuing.”

“Fair enough, although they would argue that freedom and liberty were stepping stones to the greater principle of material equality. So who are the contemporary followers of these gentlemen?”

“I’d have to say it’s those on the intellectual left. So that would include much of academia, most journalists, entertainers, the publishing industry, and of course, Unitarians.”

“Yes, yes, although the Unitarians don’t exist as a denomination anymore- they’re all part of this socio-religious movement. And I have to tell you, the publishing industry is not an ideological monolith. I find that most everyone in that line of work that I’ve come in contact with has been attentive, kind, and pragmatic. Above all, I’d have to say they are extraordinarily graceful people.”

“Huh… ok. It all kind of makes sense though, all those groups had talked about and advocated those kinds of issues for decades, and it’s ingrained into the culture that everyone should at least try to make a difference in some way-everyone always wants to be ‘proactive.’”

“True, and it was proactive in a sense, but they were also propelled to do so through a combination of economic collapse and other tumultuous events.”

“What fueled the economic collapse?”

“We’ll get to that later; it would be dramatically imprudent to begin that discussion at present. Right now, let’s just focus on their noteworthy doctrines.”

“So, what do members of the Church of Material Equality do? Have large pictorial depictions of money that they bow down to?”

“A little less cynicism please, and no, they don’t worship mammon, at least not in a literal sense. It’s more complex than that. They put equality in all its forms above all else. Their theology doesn’t permit a life after death or a larger supernatural power that dictates behavior. Without a hereafter, the here and now takes on an importance rarely seen in other world religions. And if there is only a here and now to concentrate on, then material advancement and materially equal treatment are the loftiest goals one can aspire to.”

“Can I pause you right there? I’m a little confused.”

“Confused? Are you serious? Ok then, let me put it to you this way: they believe that since we only have the material world than only true redemption can occur when we strive to make everyone equal in all material things. However, there is an important caveat to this; they don’t believe that this needs to happen before the advent of a particular generation. They just believe that their religion needs to inspire society to make incremental, but significant step-by-step changes toward a path of greater equality. Make sense now?”

“Yes, much more now. I think the philosophes would indeed be proud.”

“As would Engels, maybe Lenin, and a good many Transcendentalists- you should see the monument they built near Walden Pond. But enough about them, do you want to hear about the last part of what’s been termed the ‘new secular trinity?’”

“There’s another one? I can’t believe that so much has happened, and so much has passed.”

“I know it may seem that way, but I hope you’ve noticed and can remember things that indicate that these movements were in their nascent stages in times you remember.”

“Yes, it’s becoming clear to me, in a way I never knew before, that hindsight is indeed twenty-twenty. So what was the third movement of this neo-trinity?”

“You won’t find it surprising in the least. Still, I’m a little disturbed it’s taken you more than a second or two to realize who they were and what they worshipped.”

“Can you just tell me? I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Come on- they were Environmentalists! They worshipped nature and sought to put the physical Earth and the proper and perfect functioning of its ecosystem above everything else. See, I told you this one was logical.”

“Wow! That was easy. I’m perturbed I didn’t see that coming- although I’m sure you can make a generous allowance for someone in my case, right?”

“No. I can’t. You’re the first person this year to not connect the dots before me on that one.”

“Ouch.”

“I suppose after reading Hemingway you didn’t realize he had a passion for alcohol?”

“Hey now! That’s a little below the belt. Can we just discuss this environmental group now?”

“Ok, but I’m telling you, there are not any tremendous surprises here- it’s still the same shrill alarmist rhetoric coupled with halfway compelling end of the world scenarios.”

“So is this why the narcissists and the equality people didn’t have a belief in life after death?”

“Of course! The Environmentalists take care of that in every sense. And you’re right that many people outside the Environmental church have taken this to heart. By the way, they like to be referred to as Upholders of Material Equality, not equality people. You may not agree with them, but you should address them with the proper respect.”

“You don’t have to remind me on the role of respect. I’ve always been a David Brooks conservative, and we always bend over backwards and apologize or reconcile in any way to make sure the leftists know that we respect them. I can’t say it definitively enough- we will do anything for the respect of a liberal. So these Environmentalists, how do they go about worshipping? ”

“It’s not all that different from the way you worship at your more traditional Christian service. Sure they build organic buildings, with grass floors and peculiar kinds of bushes that they use for seats- which are quite comfortable, and not to mention they also grow produce on any green patch within the confines of their property. Other than that they sing praise songs to Mother Earth- it’s a very matriarchal religion. They also have a message on how to preserve the Earth in its true and rightful condition, and they have midweek services where they go to areas around their church and take soil samples to make sure pollution levels stay very low.”

“That doesn’t sound like my old church at all.”

“I guess, but you get the idea.”

Chapter 1- The Great Awakening

A few days earlier…

Rudely awakened by a noise, he groggily resumed consciousness. A voice echoed, sounding as if it were miles away. The sound faded and he realized he was awake, but everything was dark. All was silent, save the lone voice. He felt detached from himself, every sinew in his body felt unusual, peculiar even- like showing up at a pro-choice rally with a stroller.

He was aching all over, and a blistering pain radiated from his cheeks. Any sort of movement seemed impossible. What was regulating him, and in such a restrictive way?

“Yes, yes, I can hear you all too well.” The darkness gave way to a thick fog, and the pain in his face was matched by an agonizing tenderness all throughout his body.

The voice thundered again. Couldn’t whoever it was just quiet down? His head was killing him. He grimaced, what was going on? Why was he in so much pain? Why was he in pain at all?

“Still a little groggy I see.” The voice was calmer, less fuzzy, with a warm baritone inflexion.

The man opened his eyes. He was lying down, but he was unsure of everything around him.

“Don’t worry, the medication will wear off soon.”

A tall lanky man in a white lab coat examined him up and down. He relayed that the man’s body hadn’t been cooperating the way they needed it to, so they had to take extreme measures to wake him up. The pain shooting through his body would be gone momentarily, although they did have to slap him pretty hard.

“Say again…. And who are you? Am I at a hospital?” The man took in his sterile surroundings, as well as the machines hooked up to his weak, fragile body.

Yes, he was at a hospital. The doctor continued to glance at his charts. His patient seemed comfortable and responsive. The towering figure hit some buttons on a machine as charts and graphs quickly displayed and then disappeared on the screens. “And I just want you to know that the slap we gave you was sanctioned by your plan. The one you liked… and kept.”

The doctor circled the bed as he continued his examination. It was clear, both to the patient and the doctor, that he had experienced significant trauma. To the man’s dismay, the hospital staff still hadn’t arrived at a diagnosis yet.

The patient let out a prolonged breath. It was all he could muster as he tried to grasp his unusual condition. He tilted his head down, and noticed the weathered appearance of his uncovered forearms. They were tied to small posts on the side of his bed. Tubes carrying various liquids were connected to both his upper extremities. He stared at them with curiosity- they were unlike anything he had seen before. And why did all the bandages have images of Paul Krugman on them?

He looked down at the sheet covering the rest of his body- he didn’t see any specific problem areas. He tried to shift his right leg, but it became obvious that his legs were strapped down as well. What had happened? Thoughts of his progeny jolted him from his short self-examination.

“Where’s my wife? Why isn’t anyone here with me? I need to see her! And why are my hands tied down?”

“For your own protection. As for your family, they’ll be here in time,” The voice was both reassuring and frightening. The ties remained in place.

He looked around at the odd environment. He was lying on a solitary bed in a windowless room. To his left was a small desk with one chair. Nothing was on the desk save one lone, battered book- and if he wasn’t mistaken, it was a novel by Danielle Steele. Now that the doctor knew he was awake and responsive, he would need to ask him a series of questions, just some perfunctory stuff, nothing to be worried about. He just needed the patient to respond to the allegations, err… questions.

“Well, like Reagan said, I hope you’re all Republicans.”

“Reagan? Did you just say Reagan? And in a positive way?” His voice was like thunder, “I’d be insulted if I weren’t so intrigued that he’s still remembered.” The doctor laughed, but it provoked a sense of uneasiness in the patient. “I guess I’ll take your fascist assertion as a yes.”

No sense of humor at all. The patient winced, and his mood soured. The doctor, in an obvious hurry, and none too thrilled with the character of his patient, jumped into the questions. What was the man’s full legal name? The patient refused to answer unless untied. However, the doctor informed him that they required preliminary information before allowing him some freedom. The man drew a hard line, in the sand. He wasn’t answering any of the questions until untied. The doctor’s patience was limited. He agreed to undo his arms, but that was it.

Noting the dire certainty of the doctor’s voice, he agreed. At least he had negotiated a small token of compromise from this physician, who seemed intent on towing the party line. The doctor called a nurse in and within a couple of minutes his arms were freed. Despite the release, the IV tubing still made it difficult for him to move his arms.

“And your name?”

“My name is Jackson W. Fullerton.”

The doctor began scribbling notes on his clipboard.

“But you can just call me Jack- the only person that calls me Jackson is my mother, and that’s when she’s angry.” he chuckled, but his ability to joke was weak as well.

“Ok, then, it’s Jack. So, are you in a mutually assured relationship with another party?”

“Well… I’m married. But wait a minute- what’s your name? Aren’t you doctors supposed to wear identification?”

“Not in your case. And for that matter, I’ll tell you my name when I’m good and ready.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, but I am a great physician.”

“That’s even worse.”

The doctor flipped a page on the clipboard. Was Jack married? Yes, to a Jill Fullerton. In fact, they had wed the day before Reagan died. Jack was watching the news as his new bride prettied herself for their day’s outing, and instead he pleaded with her to stay and watch coverage. Jack was engrossed, Jill nonplussed. They did make it out for dinner, but Jack’s heart wasn’t in it.

The doctor continued to jot down notes. Did they have any children? Again, yes, it was one child, a daughter, preschool age, named Olivia. She looked just like him, but took her petulance from her mother. More copying, more notes. The whole process seemed so primitive.

The doctor cleared his throat, “Ok, let’s move in a different direction, who is the current president of the United States?”

“Bush.”

“You mean Jeb’s son?”

“No, no,” Jack shook his head. Besides, was he even old enough? No, Jack was talking about Bush 43, the one Will Ferrell did the impression of. The doctor looked perplexed, and then proceeded to jot down a few sentences, which were absent of any description. What if he mentioned ‘stay the course? Did that ring a bell? It didn’t. Well, he hated to say the next one, but what if he said ‘strategery’, or ‘nuculear’? There was still no affirmation by the doctor. Was this some sort of sick practical joke?

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the doctor sighed a frustrated sigh, “Now please just answer the questions.”

“By the way,” Jack ploughed ahead without any forethought, “That’s the strangest haircut I think I’ve ever seen a professional wear.”

The style of the doctor’s hair so bothered him that Jack could scarcely think of anything else. The doctor’s hair was cut and combed short on the front and sides, but on the back of his head lay a long stretch of hair that flowed down past his shoulders. Jack noted to himself that the closest style he could associate it with was a mullet- and it looked so…well, was it Appalachian?

The doctor enjoyed the remark, oblivious to any negative connotation. His domestic partner had just loved the look on Kueve Reeves, and she made him take a picture from one of those gossip magazines[1] to his hairstylist as soon as he came home from work. More to the point, the doctor alleged that Jack didn’t look too hip. As far as he was concerned, Jack was just an average older guy. The doctor, normally coolly collected, had, in a moment of weakness, given too much away.

Older guy, what was that supposed to mean? Jack had always been told that he had a baby face. Still, that wasn’t the worst offense to Jack’s ears. “Umm… You meant to say Keanu Reeves, right?”

“His Uncle? No, no, this is the nephew, Kueve, the one who can act. Didn’t you see him in the movie that just came out? Oh, what was the name of it…it won a bunch of awards.” The film the doctor couldn’t place was a remake, and critically acclaimed as well. It was one of those artsy movies, with very few special effects, ten types of sadness and an overt political message. Yet with all those dubious qualities, the Baywatch remake, with a storyline focusing on a gay, double-arm amputee who becomes a highly successful lifeguard, had done quite well at the box office.

Jack was shocked. Awards films never did well at the box office. He must be having some sort of nightmare, or this doctor was getting back at Jack for the hair comment.

The doctor was also silently pondering as he diagnosed his patient. Something wasn’t right with this Fullerton fellow. The condition of the patient was worse than he had first believed. And besides, that Baywatch movie had gotten a lot of critical acclaim, having been directed by Christopher Nolan’s son and Steven Soderbergh’s nephew.

However unfortunate his not having seen the Baywatch movie was, all of Jack’s behaviors and answers were leading the doctor to a diagnosis. He appeared to have a peculiarly strong form of amnesia.

The doctor began to press Jack further, asking question on top of question in order to gauge Jack’s mental capacity. Midway through the examination Jack stopped the doctor. Jack just didn’t understand the line of questioning? What did it matter to his condition how long it had been since Madonna’s last hit album? Or how many sequels there had been to a high brow movie called The Death and Destruction of American Suburbia? The whole process seemed a mite unorthodox. And, Jack, for one, didn’t care for the doctor’s insinuations about certain politicians- even if he didn’t like what they stood for,’ he shouldn’t pretend that they were dead.

The doctor paused and assured him of his good intentions. He continued, but this time he asked open ended questions about Jack’s age, questions about his parents, and questions concerning other relatives. However, after a rather short foray into Jack’s familial relations, the physician returned to the oddities of popular culture.

How many Oscars had the actor Howie Mandel won? The doctor was nonchalant about the whole experience. Jack had no idea, and was becoming more than a little disconcerted. The doctor noted that Jack’s final answer was to affirm that Howie Mandel has never won an Oscar.

The line of questioning thoroughly vexed Jack. He wasn’t saying that Howie Mandel was a particularly poor actor, but he was under the impression that television actors couldn’t garner those particular awards, at least, he thought he was a television actor. Jack had never seen him on the big screen.

Jack shifted uncomfortably in the inclined bed- did this doctor just love to revel in people’s shortcomings? Besides, most of the people he referenced had done quite well for themselves, even if they weren’t at the very top of their industry.

“Ok, moving on,” the doctor said as he wrote down more notes. The man was always copying something down. It didn’t bother Jack. It was clear by his satisfied expression that Jack was reveling in the attention. They moved onto opera, a befuddling topic to be sure. During the MET’s last production of Verdi’s Aida, who had played the title role?

That question was ridiculous on its face, and Jack had no idea. The doctor, not altogether surprised, still requested an answer. He must have an answer from the patient, for it was a federal regulation. Jack, on the other hand, had always been a little wary of strange and invasive federal regulations. This, in turn, only frustrated the doctor more, who was convinced that federal regulations were only concerned for citizens’ safety. They compromised, or, reached a consensus, and the doctor read off a list of names, to include Britney Spears, Belinda Carlisle, Miley Cyrus and Gilbert Godfried.

It was almost too much for Jack, who claimed that the doctor was being mean-spirited. This was also strange, since as far as Jack could remember, others always claimed that he was mean spirited. Nevertheless, he did his best to answer the question, by listing one of the female answer choices. Still, why would he go out of his way to mock Gilbert Godfried? This time, it was the doctor who was incredulous. Obviously, Jack had never heard the man sing.

Without missing a beat, it was time to ditch the opera. They moved onto food. Which of the following was the latest diet craze: the low carb Atkins diet, the “it all goes better with lettuce” diet, bulimia, or the Cultured Revolution diet? Jack corrected him, surely the doctor meant the Cultural Revolution Diet? No, that was not it at all. Was Jack answering the questions? It was indeed the Cultured Revolution Diet, the doctor corrected as he emphasized the last syllable of the first word. It was all very simple, one walked around with a little red book of inspirational quotations and ate only cultured foods.

The explanation didn’t help Jack one iota, he still didn’t quite comprehend. “I guess I’d have to say low-carb then.”

“Low carb, huh? Yeah, like that would ever work.” The doctor burst into hysterics.

The conversation soon ended, and Jack was left alone.

Ω

“That’s quite the patient you have there, John.”

In a darkened room not far away, Jack’s physician and another doctor watched a screen projecting an image of the resting amnesiac. In all his years of state-sponsored medicine John had never seen anything quite like it. This man had no recollection of the last few decades.

A somber mood filled the air. Had Larry ever witnessed similar cases before his transfer? That he had, though they were few in number. John was perplexed by the mystery. By any chance, had Larry been watching just before he regained consciousness? Yes he had. And wasn’t that when he kept muttering about limited government, low taxes, huge expenditures on national defense, and privatized health accounts?

“Yeah, that’s what it was. Didn’t that seem a little creepy to you?”

“It did have an eerie quality.”

What could Jack have been thinking? Surely he must have realized that the only way to receive quick, efficient, and quality healthcare was through the government? Larry knew exactly what John meant, you didn’t have to tell him twice. Anyone who’d been to grade school knew about the concept of the Beneficent Hand. They would just have to make sure that he spent a lot of time re-acclimating.

“I’m sure Personnel Transitions will ok the move.”

Such a move would do him good. The re-acclimators could catch him up on what he had missed over the last few decades and teach him how to cope with the outside world. After a few sessions with those folks, his unfortunate amnesia should be remedied. It was nothing a little state-sponsored education couldn’t fix.

“So what are you doing tonight?” John asked as he intently watched the screen.

“I’ve got my book club with the wife tonight. We’re doing this comparison between 1984 and Brave New World.” Larry was always so pompous, if it wasn’t a literature reference, than it must be from a piece in the New Yorker.

John, on the other hand, had always felt those books a little arrogant, and let it be known to Larry, who immediately slumped in dejection. Frankly, it was pretentious to write a book that claimed to know what the future held.

Larry looked on glumly, “I guess you’re right. Although the Orwell and Huxley books are classics- not cheap imitations.”

[1]They still sell them in the future.