“Professor!” Kuiper exclaimed. “Is the rumor true? Did you tell the president to build a wall?” “Don’t Change Horses Midstream!” Verboom bayed, running circles around Kuiper and the guests. He yanked the lapels of his tweed jacket over his blond hair and looped the anchor’s desk like a headless horseman, shouting more historic slogans. “A Chicken In Every Pot! The Buck Stops Here! All The Way With LBJ!” He neighed like a feral stallion. “It’s The Economy, Stupid! Ross For Boss!” He stopped himself with invisible reins, lowered his jacket, glanced side to side, and asked Kuiper in a whisper: “Yes We Can?” “Can we, professor?” Kuiper demanded. “Can we get God out of government?” Now trotting in place, Verboom chanted boldly: “Yes We Can! Yes We Can!” “There’s no wall between church and state!” scoffed the theologian. “There’s a wall higher than any ladder!” the historian shot back. Verboom flung his arms wide and sang, “Ain’t no ladder high enough! Ain’t no pundit low enough! Ain’t no angle wide enough. To keep me here talkin’ with you.” Then he galloped off stage, tearing through the greenroom, racing down the hall, clattering down the emergency stairs, and bursting through the exit door onto the frigid streets of Capitol Hill.
“When negotiations hit a wall, the rep asked: ‘What’s it going to take to get you in this truck?’ The answer came naturally, ‘The Flying Dutchman on surround sound.’ So, the guy ran to a music shop and came back with a version on CD.” “Richard Wagner, huh?” I smirked. “Flight of the Valkyries would’ve better set the mood.” “Woulda, coulda, shoulda!” He threw up his bare arms, pretending to conduct an orchestra of what-ifs.
The car ahead of us on the freeway had a bumper sticker: HONK FOR FREEDOM. Verboom read it aloud, slowly, as if weighing each word. “Hands off the horn, Santo. No telling what kind of freedom they’re after.”
(NPR) “From Washington, the president refuses to comment on Final Freedom or distance himself from the E.C.S. fellow Dr. Pieter Cornelius Verboom. Our sources, speaking only on background, debate whether the nascent movement is a serious political force or a stunt for the attention-starved. Opinions are split—some see Dr. Verboom as the mastermind of a revolution, others as an accidental prophet whose message was taken...” “Backasswards,” Verboom said, reaching over to mute the radio. “Isn’t the phrase ass-backwards?” Without answering, he switched the audio to CD. The opening strains of The Flying Dutchman filled the truck, and he let it play through—twice—without another word about politics. As our chariot rolled into the high desert city of Flagstaff, Arizona, I asked Verboom how long he planned to stay. He laughed—sharp and unhinged, like a man in need of medication—then mumbled something about Jonah in the belly of a whale. “My father can name every kind of tree,” he said, gazing up at the mountain slopes. “Mainly ponderosa pine, some oak, a few juniper.” “Let’s not get into particulars until they’ve got my mind universalized.” At the clinic, he scrawled my name on the intake form, listing me as his emergency contact and labeling me student. Then he frowned and tore up the form. He asked for a replacement. The second time, he wrote son. I’d like to say the title meant nothing to me, but I can’t. My girlfriend believed I’d become so obsessed with Verboom that he was taking advantage of me. When I told her I was simply following my interests and had genuine respect for his research, she scoffed. She insisted I was shopping for a surrogate father—my mind colonized by his influence and the whole of Western Civilization. Then she twisted the knife, remarking on his overwhelming manliness. “He must have great physical prowess,” she marveled, “in addition to his blind obedience to capitalism.” To my knowledge, he had no commitment to a grand economic theory, but her point was clear: the fact that I so deeply admired a middle-aged Dutchman meant I had failed to see his true nature. As for my dedication to the man, my motives weren’t mixed but many—not a conflict of interests, but a confluence. He was someone I wanted to help, and he was my cover story to get out of town. My quarter-life crisis paired with his midlife crisis.
For a few days on the open road, I could escape the heavy clouds of Lake Michigan and my heartache, narrowing my role to that of a getaway driver. To catch my breath and make sure Verboom settled in, I decided to stay at a hotel near the clinic. After three days, with my duty complete, I packed for home. Before bidding farewell to the professor, I received a text message. No greeting, no affection—just a blunt declaration: “We should see other people.” My heart pounded hard three times, heat rushing to my face. Embarrassed, I didn’t write back. I’d been saving for a ring, debating whether to surprise her with one or to let her choose. She chose: none of the above. On our first date, she told me I was too diplomatic—the only time she was polite about my politeness. A few months later, she met my mother, who, though frail beneath a wig, summoned the strength to give her approval with awkward gusto. And just like that, a year had passed. Now, I was six states away with my mentor—America’s most notorious social scientist. Not famous for his research, but for being the first man in history to have a nervous breakdown on live television with an encore on radio. Since my coursework was complete, I could write my dissertation anywhere. Why not stay in the high desert? Already sick with grief, and now unceremoniously dumped, going back to campus felt impossible. We knew all the same people. Instead of hiding in my apartment, I decided to stay in Arizona until Verboom checked out. Clearly in need of a long stay, we had his mail forwarded to the clinic. Verboom’s case manager suggested I screen my “father’s” mail for anything triggering, so I intercepted Ella’s letters and stashed them in a size-thirteen shoebox. Once the shoebox filled, I put her letters in a beat-up plastic milk crate I had found behind the clinic’s cafeteria. Some of the envelopes felt like they held Polaroids and pamphlets. I had the nerve to run my fingers over them but not to open them. In addition to Ella’s envelopes, I held back a slew of speaking invitations. On the heels of his radio finale, fringe groups and lone-wolf fanatics began to flood Verboom with speaking requests. The sarcastic screed born in madness was metastasizing, spreading like a chain letter for the terminally outraged. As a swelling congregation of zealots clamored for Verboom to lead them out of the wilderness and into the corridors of power, the media took more notice. The New York Times picked up the Final Freedom story, calling his immodest proposal “an ironic rant taken literally by literalists.” And a leading WNN pundit fumed, “Verboom crashed our last dance with democracy.” More troubling than Verboom’s unraveling was the country’s willingness to embrace a delirious dare. People on the Left understood the rant as irony—which it was. People on the Right took the rant as an invitation to man up. The provocation became a watershed moment, a defining plot point in the media’s election year melodrama. Verboom had baited the American fringe, and they had taken it as the Lord’s Supper. As the spotlight intensified, he sank deeper into denial, refusing any discussion of politics or the press. He began to see the clinic not as a place to heal, but to hide. And yet, even as he closed his eyes and shook his head, his thought experiment took on flesh—and dwelt among us.
2 Behold! I send you out as sheep among wolves, therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves!” Verboom recited a verse from the Gospel of Matthew, lying in his bed at the clinic, staring at the ceiling...
~~~
I have to admit a couple of things... I thought the Orange in the title was for one man we all know... I was wrong... Second, when I announced this book and said it was weird... I was right... Because it is so much more...
It is Wild, Weird and Wonderful!
There is so much in this complex book--important info that is helpful at this time of chaos... Most of all that it all started with a man who had a breakdown and threw out words that were picked up by the people who actually liked what he said... and it became a winning slogan...
First, the author started writing the book during the time period when Obama was running for office and then proceeds thereafter... Yet, it many ways, it is not a linear movement in toto. In fact the book runs much like is being used during these days of chaos... it is more by subject or topic... So there will be multiple time periods as we explore the topics presented. And don't expect the topics to be in the right time period...
There are two main characters who run throughout the book. One of which as I read, I identified as our present president. He is a distinguished professor of psychology in the book, who has begun to have mental lapses... I can only assume that the actions of these two men are based upon similar mental disabilities which many will recognized from our present days of chaos... Only the character in the book has been actually diagnosed as having breakdowns as well as lapses into psychological trauma and flashbacks...
I held back a slew of speaking invitations. On the heels of his radio finale, fringe groups and lone-wolf fanatics began to flood Verboom with speaking requests. The sarcastic screed born in madness was metastasizing, spreading like a chain letter for the terminally outraged. As a swelling congregation of zealots clamored for Verboom to lead them out of the wilderness and into the corridors of power, the media took more notice. The New York Times picked up the Final Freedom story, calling his immodest proposal “an ironic rant taken literally by literalists.” And a leading WNN pundit fumed, “Verboom crashed our last dance with democracy.” More troubling than Verboom’s unraveling was the country’s willingness to embrace a delirious dare. People on the Left understood the rant as irony—which it was. People on the Right took the rant as an invitation to man up. The provocation became a watershed moment, a defining plot point in the media’s election year melodrama. Verboom had baited the American fringe, and they had taken it as the Lord’s Supper. As the spotlight intensified, he sank deeper into denial, refusing any discussion of politics or the press. He began to see the clinic not as a place to heal, but to hide. And yet, even as he closed his eyes and shook his head, his thought experiment took on flesh—and dwelt among us.
It all began when Verboom was asked to participate in a televised panel discussion. Including Professor Verboom, Social Psychologist, are a theologian promoting Christian Nationalism, a historian tracing US secularism, and a political scientist exposing propaganda. The first issue was aimed at the Professor. “Professor Verboom, sources within the administration claim you told the president to ‘get God out of government,’” and "to build a wall of separation between church and state." His response took it even further. “If God is truly God, how could we get such a Being out of anything?” Then, "Let God" answer the question!"
He ran off the stage, only to have his agent stop him, unsuccessfully, it seemed, when he ran back on stage and shouted. "The Union Shall and Must be Preserved." He howled to the ceiling, darted to the camera and instead of answering the moderator who asked for verification of the first question, Verboom shouted, "Don't Change Horses Midstream..." and then started spouting all of the political slogans he could think off. That is, until he began to calm down but was still pressed as to whether a wall was needed.. to which he now replied “There’s no wall between church and state!” Which could have, of course, meant anything by that time since Verboom was clearly not capable of clearly explaining his position. But that didn't stop those listening deciding exactly what was meant... Because he had again ran out off the stage and this time out of the building...
Santo was Verboom's graduate student assistant and had become almost like a son... In fact, when he had agreed to drive Verboom to a clinic, he wrote on the entry form that the contact individual was Santo, his Son... Santa, for his own reasons, found that he didn't mind that title... But when Verboom began reviewing what had happened and the responses, he told Santo that he realized an ugly thought--he could bring the whole thing down... And heading for a clinic where he couldn't be disturbed was the best hiding place for him to be...
But you can only stay in a clinic as long as you remain visibly disturbed. And that was not true, all the time, for the Professor... Then later he stated, “A terrible notion, of course, an intrusive idea inspired by the myth of Samson pulling down the Philistine temple. The Bible is such a violent book.”
Thus begins a journey of two men--one a professor and his selected assistant... Now a professor without a career with a very intelligent caretaker... With some very interesting points of concern being spouted along the way. Fact: There are more guns than people in the U.S. We are making more guns than babies...
Fact: Americans make up 4% of the world’s population, but we own half of the entire global stock of civilian firearms! Can I get a U-S-A?” “Another fact: We own at three times the rate of Canadians. ‘O Canada! Our home and native land!’”
“People wander the streets like they’re in another dimension. They don’t ask for money; they speak to the air. They look right through you, like you’re the air. Maybe I’m moving into the next dimension myself. Think I’ll fit in?” “Careful. Conservatives believe all behavior is a free and punishable moral choice, and Liberals think it’s rude to be fascinated by abnormalities—unless that abnormality is conservatism.”
Of course there has to be more to the book, right? Well, it surrounds the professor's agent and her obsession to be wherever the professor is... Yes, sex is involved, but is that all that is driving her to track the professor down no matter where he tries to hide--yes, he has actually asked Santo to keep her away from him... Santo knows why, the professor cannot say no when she comes to be with him... Why? Or is the more important question, why would a beautiful younger woman bother???
But the professor just can't stop talking--sound familiar? So going on the radio becomes the next big announcement! Stay tuned, you might even hear him. Well, no, because he goes by different names... LOL And talk included climate control, God, Jesus, men wearing clothes like Jesus--maybe klansmen... Yeah,,, and the Professor always wore the same outfit that appears on the book cover... Figure this one out! And have fun...
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