In a Nutshell

Here's a poem I wrote a few years ago...

You're born, you cry, they weep,
you eat and make a mess.
You grow then leave as they weep.
You live, settling for nothing less
than: you wake, you bathe, you dress,
you work, you eat, you sleep.
And what comes of it? I confess:
You age, you die, they weep.

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Bungalow Benchly's Campaign Promises

If elected lieutenant governor of Vermont, I promise the following:

- I will not raise taxes. (Of course, I couldn't raise them even if I wanted to because lieutenant governor doesn't have that authority, but it's still worth saying.)

- I will not embarrass this state. Brian Dubie hasn't really done anything embarrassing during his time as lieutenant governor, but let's face it, a liberal, hippy-loving state like Vermont needs a better name associated with it than Dubie. Just saying.

- I will work tirelessly to promote the great state of Vermont. We're more than just cheese, maple syrup, and ice cream, and I want to show that to the world. And if sending cheese, maple syrup, and ice cream to the rest of the world helps win them over, so be it.

- I will do my best to hear the concerns of all Vermonters by holding weekly get-to-know-how-well-your-lieutenant-governor-throws-a-dodgeball sessions every Monday night from 7 to 9 p.m.

- And finally, I will take a pay cut. Brian Dubie makes over $63,000 a year as a part-time lieutenant governor. It's not his fault that this is how much Vermont pays its Number 2 in Charge of Nothing, but still, I think the salary is crazy, especially in the current economy. And as lieutenant governor, I won't stand for it. And if the state refuses to cut my pay, I vow to donate at least $20,000 of my salary to the Vermont Foodbank and COTS.

I believe that Vermonters deserve better than a Bungalow-Benchly-less government and so I'm asking for your support and vote in 2010 because Yes Benchly Can!

Thank you, God bless Vermont, and/or have a nice day, and/or insert relevant salutation!

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Bungalow Benchly for Lieutenant Governor in 2010!

In case this campaign ever gets taken seriously (because it should be) I thought it best that I include a list of my "positions." Hypothetically speaking, because we're all human, the governor could die, and the lieutenant governor could assume that role and unlike Governor David Paterson, I'd actually want that job. So here goes:

- I believe in freedom of speech.
- I believe in a woman's right to choose.
- I believe in the right to bear arms.
- I believe in universal health care.
- I believe the minimum wage should be increased at the rate of inflation.
- I believe in the separation of church and state.
- I believe in civil liberties such as the freedom to marry whomever.
- I believe the children are our future.
- I believe the government should stay out of our homes and beds.
- I believe in the right to privacy.
- I believe in a government designed to support those who are unable to support themselves but that also prevents the abuse of those who wish to take advantage of such a system.
- I believe that marijuana should have the same legal restrictions as alcohol and tobacco.
- I believe the prisoners of our state should be forced to work on state farms and should be compensated with enough money to use to rebuild their lives upon release from prison.
- I believe companies should be rewarded for keeping jobs in the state.
- I believe in higher taxes for those who can afford it.
- I believe government should take a pay cut before education and health care do.
- I believe homeland security should focus only on our homeland and not the lands of other nations.
- I believe in the environment and our responsibility to protect it.
- I believe in me. Yoko and me, cause that's reality.

And if elected, I promise jukeboxes in all school cafeterias! Yes Benchly Can!

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Bungalow Benchly for Lieutenant Governor of Vermont

I would like to take this opportunity (read: free Facebook group and blog) to announce my candidacy for lieutenant governor of the fine state of Vermont. (I am not kidding.)



After several years of Dubie at the helm (read: waste of money), I think it's time that the Vermont people declared in a bold and unified voice (with a few calculated pauses for dramatic effect and breaths): "if we're actually going to spend money on this position, we should at least vote for someone with an even better name than Dubie, even if it is just a nickname."

The office of the lieutenant governor of Vermont is a very important job. The lieutenant governor is the president of the state senate. Of course, if there's no lieutenant governor, the constitution simply states that the senate can just pick someone else to be president, but still, Very Big Responsibility! And if the governor should fall ill, the lieutenant governor will be right at his/her side to provide OJ, medicine, and a cold washcloth for the forehead. And should that not work and the governor dies, the lieutenant governor becomes the governor. Whoa!

And I'm sure the lieutenant governor does tons of other fun stuff too, but just because I can't think of anything other than this primary responsibility of waiting, doesn't mean they don't exist.

And it's because of that responsibility of waiting, which, incidentally, I think I'm pretty good at (e.g., I once waited outside of Best Buy for four hours for a laptop!), and the weight of that responsibility one feels knowing that the governor's next cough could mean so much, that I have decided that it is absolutely imperative for the fine people of this fine state to pick someone with a lot of time on their hands to wait. And considering that I'm spending so much time on this Facebook group, I think we can all agree that I'm the right person for the job.

I love this state. I'm not particularly fond of its slogan "I LoVermont" because, let's face it, "LoVermont" is not a real word and I'm all about real words, and good grammar, and proper capitalization, but I love this state!

And speaking of proper capitalization, I think it's worth mentioning that "lieutenant governor" need not be capitalized unless it precedes the person's name who holds such a position. This bugs me. Same goes for the state senate and president and what not. They're not proper nouns! OK, I'm done venting.

I love Vermont! And I want to serve Vermont! So please vote for me, Bungalow Benchly for lieutenant governor. I want to be your Lieutenant Governor Bungalow Benchly! (See how I capitalized there?) For those who believe in God, God bless you and God bless Vermont, and for those of you who don't, have a nice day! And if you're agnostic, well, that's OK, too.

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A Love/Hate Relationship

As most of you have heard by now, after a woman compared President Obama to Adolf Hitler in a town hall meeting, U.S. Representative Barney Frank responded, "It is a tribute to the First Amendment that this kind of vile, contemptible nonsense is so freely propagated." I agree. She had a right to make the comparison, and Frank had a right to call the comparison vile.

For obvious reasons, this encounter was on my mind yesterday morning when a small group of extreme protesters (or, to be fair, "protesters who some have deemed to be extreme") visited Vermont to protest gay marriage as well as, it seemed to this biased observer, everything else. They were doing so on behalf of God. I'm not making that up. One of the women in the group said, "you're darn tootin' we're a hate group. We're preaching the hatred of God." I can't begin to imagine what makes these people tick; how one goes about justifying such a message. What I can state with full confidence, though, is that the majority of Vermonters disagree. And disagree they did.

As a writer, my predilection is to use visual aids only when they can complement the written word. After witnessing yesterday's events, though, I understand that the only proper way to document this story is to complement the photographs with captions.

This story is one of love and hate. While love is appropriate for all ages, the photo essay that follows might not be.

We love Viva Espresso for opening at 6 a.m. ...


... so that Sarah and I could get our coffee.


And then Jen showed up and was loved ...


... and reenacted the morning's news.


And then the sun showed up.


And we love the sun.


When we saw this, we knew Montpelier loved us.


And God loves Anne.


And other people showed up ...


... to show their love.


And this guy loved the shirt right off of his back.


And then the hate came.


But that didn't stop the love.


And love laughed ...


... and laughed ...


... because hate is no match for love ...


... and because the joke was on hate.


You see, every minute they hated, love raised money. (For more information, see the Facebook group Westboro Baptist Church Hates, Montpelier High School Donates.)


And raise money they did!


Even God helped.


And so did Peace.


And hate kept hating.


And we kept loving ...


... even when it would have been easy not to.


Because love has no limits.


Not even in the eyes of the law.


So we honked for love.


And we sang for love.


And we flew balloons for love.


And they kept on hating.


And we saw their hate ...


... and raised them peace.


And because of this ...


... we prayed for them ...


... and kept on loving.


Because why hate ...


... when you can smile?


Our love is divine ...


... no matter what they say.


And we walked proudly ...


... around town.


Wherever hate went ...


... love followed


(and the media).


And as much as hate tried ...


... love was right ...


... and strong.


And while hate disappeared ...


... love burned brightly ...


... on and on and on and on ...


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Private Benchly

Forgive me for this.

Although the Benchly’sWord Vault to the left will tell you otherwise, my most devoted readers (read: reader) will confirm that these are the opening words to my fourteenth blog entry of 2009. My last entry, a brief photo-essay documenting a recent trip to a local farm to pick strawberries was removed in an effort to preserve the anonymity of my girlfriend. I removed this entry after receiving a hostile comment posted by an anonymous poster (it’s funny how all hostile comments are anonymous) in which my girlfriend’s full name was used. The anonymous poster wondered if someone should warn my girlfriend of my past, which was ironic because my girlfriend is someone I can open up to about my past and also because some days it feels as though she and I are the only ones capable of living in the present. As a result, I’m forced to screen all comments and, though it makes my First-Amendment-bones quiver as if George W. Bush was in the room, all comments containing personal attacks, personal information, and/or foul language are now deleted. Who knew it would come to this?

One question I’m repeatedly asked is, “what’s up with your nickname?” (or some variation). In response, like a ballplayer reciting the daily, monotonous postgame “there’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’” sound bite, I explain the origins of the nickname, delving into as much detail as my mood and schedule will allow. Despite my predilection for long-windedness, though, one detail that is often lost in my explanation is the reasoning behind my use of the nickname as a pseudonym on the Internet. I don’t bother elucidating because I consider the explanation to be implied. The short answer is that I prefer anonymity; of course, when have you ever known me to be short?

When I started this blog, the second entry I published was a rant about a man whom I dubbed The Prick. I kept my real name and his out of the blog for the same reason: in case he ever read it. Even then, I recognized that anonymity was my only chance to feel free to express my uncensored thoughts, which was my only chance at producing anything worth reading. (Whether or not my writing is actually worth reading is a discussion for another day.) I wanted to be uncensored without risk of hurt feelings. What an unrealistic contradiction, right? I guess that’s the fate of a writer. From the very start when Professor Hudnall and others were teaching us the art of storytelling, we were told to write what we know. And then we graduated and entered a world where successful writers based some or most of their stories on their personal experiences, all the while pretending that any similarities between real life and the fiction presented in their work was a coincidence. The writer for the motion picture (500) Days of Summer even makes light of this when he prefaces his film with the disclaimer, “The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Especially you, Jenny Beckman.”

Regardless of how hopeless my goal of anonymity seemed to be, I had to try. I wanted my writing to speak for itself, not the facts and feelings behind the words. (And incidentally, to anyone who complains that I’m only telling one side of my life’s story, I say of course I am, and if you have a problem with that, get your own damn blog.) My writing is important to me and as such, this blog is doubly important. The birth of this blog came at a time when, as a writer, I worried that my creativity had died like a fly ball at the warning track on a windy day at Candlestick Park, and now, five years later, Candlestick Park has been torn down and replaced by a new literation-friendly ballpark. I built it and my blog counter tells me that people have come, so I must be doing something right. There’s just one tiny problem ...

As the Peer Pressure links to the left will tell you, like 200 million people around the world, I have a Facebook page. I created a page for the same reason some people buy an Oprah book; or like a certain band; or wear a certain style; or say a certain catchphrase: I followed the masses. And though I’m sure that once the American sheep herd starts to venture to a different networking hill, “Facebook” will be said with the same nostalgic-yet-disapproving tone as has been reserved for “Hootie and the Blowfish” and “skidz” (among other unpopular fads formerly known as popular), I will acknowledge that it has worked wonders in reconnecting me with lost friends, cultivating current friendships, and establishing new ones. Unfortunately, it has also introduced a new level of anonymity-related problems.

When I signed up for Facebook, I used my pseudonym. I did this because I knew my blog would be linked to my Facebook page and vice versa, and in order to preserve my anonymity and subsequently maintain a freedom to write in my blog, I needed to keep my name private on Facebook. I also set my Facebook profile settings as private as one can get without being unwelcoming to friends both old and new: stated simply, for a person to see anything other than my pseudonym and profile picture, he/she would have to be my Facebook friend. I’ve even gone so far as to use the pseudonyms for my nieces in the pictures of them that I’ve posted on Facebook. Sure, that’s a picture of me with Niece #3, but unless you know her, you don’t know her name or where she lives. I’ve done my best to create an online identity as close to the real one as is possible when using millions of ones and zeros. This has included dropping Facebook “friends” with whom I no longer maintain contact (including exes, former coworkers, etc.). And as a result, for the last Facebook year, my sense of privacy has begotten a sense of creative freedom. And yet.

A month ago, the anonymous poster left the aforementioned comment that included my girlfriend’s full name, a piece of information to which, in my perfect world, only my Facebook “friends” would have had access. I admit that there are loopholes through which an obsessive person could travel to ultimately find her way to private information reserved for my Facebook friends. It would be grossly naïve to think otherwise. And I admit that even though I’ve since taken additional steps to ensure my online privacy, there is probably a backdoor I’m missing through which someone may someday enter. This is the world we live in.

And I won’t forgive you for that.

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Othello

My elementary school art teacher, Mrs. Fennell was notorious for finishing her students' art projects. To this day, I still remember the pride I felt for the prehistoric drawing I created in her class; as well as the horror that followed as she took the art utensils from my hand to make some "improvements." If, when the English majors of the future are studying the life and writings of Mr. Bungalow Benchly, the question is asked, "why did Benchly decide to become a writer instead of an artist?," they'll find most of the answer from that fateful day in elementary school.

Thankfully, 12-year-old Grant Davis of Burlington, VT has never had Mrs. Fennell for a teacher. There's no telling what kind of damage she's capable of doing to his God-given talents:



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