Tuesday, February 5, 2008

People are uproarious about their candidates this year. It's possibly a symptom of aging, but boy are "we" into our future presidents. One old high school classmate better known in our day as "the guy who brings weed to the party," recently sent a vitriolic SERIES of emails to an exposed recipient list, claiming liberal voters would harken the ruin of our great nation by voting a black man into office out of "guilt."

Another friend told me if he heard another person say "it's high time we had a woman in office" he'd puke.

I thought the election would be a safe topic of conversation with one wealthy unemployed slacker friend who'd never said a word about politics before, but at the mere mention of Super Tuesday she guffawed, "as if America would ever let a black junior senator be president. I'm not wasting my vote on anyone but Hillary."

I decided not to take sides publicly.

And now, I've just voted, and though I won't say for whom, I can tell you it was a tough decision. The last thought that went through my head as I walked into that smelly polling station (really. It smelled like chicken livers and baby poo.):


In the past, I'd voted for Nader and I'd voted for Kucinich. In other words, I could give two gay donkey balls about electability. Shit, the word doesn't even register on my word processor (though neither does "Kucinich").

So why do I care who has a better shot of beating McRomnebee all of a sudden (and please don't bother trying to sell me the GOP. Even McCain, who is supposedly the avatar of independents falls well short of my very low threshold of basic human rights)? Well, in typically solipsistic fashion, the democratic candidates have sufficed only to prove that they are more or less the same. I have as little and as much faith in all of them. So why not go with the more likable one, right? (Sigh)

Voting has never felt as unfulfilling as it did today, and that too, is probably a symptom of aging.

Iraq the vote.

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