Ralph Who?

Nader added, ‘ … first of all, the number one thing that a black American politician aspiring to the presidency should be [doing] is to candidly describe the plight of the poor, especially in the inner cities and the rural areas … Haven’t heard a thing.’

Get the crap out of your ears, Ralph. Or is it just old age.

‘He wants to show that he is not … another politically threatening African-American politician … He wants to appeal to white guilt … Basically he’s coming on as someone who is not going to threaten the white power structure, whether it’s corporate or whether it’s simply oligarchic. And they love it. Whites just eat it up.’

Let this be the last we hear of the man. Whose “political” message no one ever, ever “ate up,” because he doesn’t have one.

But Ralph? Thanks for the seatbelts. Really.


Sweetest Things Turn Sourest

Title via Glenn Greenwald, surprise. Yes, I think he’s going a bit overboard about Obama’s present actions as Senator … which were to be expected, and if you didn’t expect them, if you didn’t see Obama as a quintessentially political creature, you either haven’t been paying attention or joined MoveOn at too early an age. Continue reading “Sweetest Things Turn Sourest”

Dear Mark Morford

So, Mark, now you’ve taken to combing the bitch for ideas.

Fine by me.

You would not believe the reactions to that post. More to the point, I am having a hard time believing the nerve I struck, all unwitting. Given the awkward struggle to write it, the awkward writing. I’m always surprised, at such times, to find it’s readable English. (Not that I speak any other language. Maybe gibberish.) Continue reading “Dear Mark Morford”

Et Tu, Geraldine?

If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position. And if he was a woman, he would not be in this position. He happens to be very lucky to be who he is. And the country is caught up in the concept …

No I don’t know where I got that, it’s all over everywhere and you don’t need the goddamn link anyway. I am so pissed.

You told me a few decades ago these women would turn out to be more than a disappointment, I would have jumped down your little sexist throat.

Course, the fact that Geraldine Ferraro happened to be very lucky to have been in her position—one that thrilled the bejesus out of us, I do recall that. You cannot imagine, if you are a man—or if you’re one of the pups that do seem to becloud this Interwebs thing—what it was like. Sea after sea of male faces … and for the first time, my god, there was a woman up there on the platform, running, as it were, for Vice President!

I think that was the moment that unlocked it, for America. The avalanche of feminine faces where the world had only seen men. Oh yes. The first female news anchors were an amazing sight. And we all gained authority. Why, it made me how I am today! (No remarks please.)

Sometimes this blog seems like nothing but questions. Why do people … I’m sure there’s a name for this, um, conversion reaction. (I didn’t quite become a therapist. Is it obvious?) Where people cannot wait to accuse someone else of which they benefited from. Another goddamn sentence ending in a preposition. The world is going to hell, I tell you.

The good news: Intrade has Obama taking Hil and poor John McCain. Like I always say, Follow the money. This time, though, seems it just might have a happy ending.

Simply Irresistible

Reuters: “Campaigning on Saturday, in Mississippi, the former president was quoted as saying his wife and Obama would be a dynamic duo, ‘an almost unstoppable force.’”

Hm, yes. Especially since they will be running against a man in a (well-deserved) coma. (Has anyone the sense that John McCain wants to be President? Lusts after four years of epic work and nothing but hassle? I see the word Retirement writ large on his face.)

The question for today is, How screwed up are Hill and Billary—I mean, Bill and Hillary—really.

We’re looking for signs of grace, folks. Humility. What have you done with that grotesque ambition of yours, and can a beast like that ever be whapped down to size. Does it happen.

Can Bill and Hil even conceive of themselves as vice-president of anything.

It’s clear he was a spoiled-rotten kid, the kind who deploy their considerable charm and charisma in the interest of just plain survival. Has Bill gotten a grip on himself—or is he still in addiction’s grip.

A glib little sentence, but no small question. For make no mistake, Monica-gate was total addict behavior. Something Bill Clinton absorbed at his mama’s knee. The belief that people are objects, to be arranged at will. A deeply mechanistic view that cannot, by definition, ever approach the Moral, which is so Golden Rule: treat others as you would be treated. Far too fluid—and rather rules out that primary drive, to get.

My guess is that their lives, that family, are shot through with ordinary lies … that they are nice folks, but are textbook Dysfunctional  I mean, Where the fork are her tax returns? Things like that.

It’s a Shakespearean drama, unfolding on the national stage. What does the woman do when the Unstoppable is not her queenly, entitled self, but this Dark Prince out of nowhere, with all this Honesty crap, and you really cannot grasp the attraction. And people are watching.

Hillary genuinely strikes me as a born Vice-President. Just saying.

Cry If I Want To

“I certainly hope not, and if that is the dreary case, how the hell does she think she’s going to keep Bill Clinton from horning in on everything (NPI.) Honestly, has the nation gone to sleep on … oops, not my blog? ‘KTHXBYE!”

… I was busily ranting away at Frank’s place when I realized, tis only right, mete and just to confine one’s rant to one’s own blog. Especially when you exceed the comment box.

Based on the results of yesterday’s primaries we may yet see a former President as First Gentleman in the White House …

Frank had writ (done wrote?) (writed?) and suddenly I was overcome, as if by fumes. So infuriating was the realization—and don’t tell me America hasn’t thought of this, although it is perfectly obvious it has not—Bill Clinton will no more stay out of the Oval Office than he successfully kept his pants zipped. (That sentence would be better in present tense, but it seemed crude; one does not really know. One did know, however—and however unwillingly—more about presidential ejaculatory matter and other grossities than we, as a nation, ever wanted.) (It stains.)

Did this not carve a deep enough rut in the national neocortex? Are not all, to a man and woman, sick to death of Bill Clinton and his close relations? (Oops, bad choice of words.) If the name Clinton be not anathema enough, take a gander, I dare you, at the worst, most devotedly unhip, glaringly 1995, clunky, unreadable excuse of a website

Do you know what youth for Hillary is called? (Hold your barf, please. We have bags.)

“Hillblazers.” That’s right, and anyone under the age of twenty found clicking that link will be promptly sent into treatment. I have monitors.

When the great culture war of the Sixties was over … oh, sigh. Same old rift, nay, same old ne’er-to-be-bridged chasm. Between, you got it, the normal and Teh Square.

Which is how she won Ohio.

(I wonder how the vote came down in Winesburg.)

Next up: Watch Barack Obama busta move.

Is It Over Yet?

ObamaI don’t watch TV news, I don’t turn on the radio … and still I am just so bloody sick of the Clintons as people. Well, and as politicians, too.

Leaflets, FCS. Hillary waving a fistful of leaflets, and accusing Obama of some kind of betrayal, completely a video bite. Seeing as how said leaflets were identical to her own, and not particularly interesting at that.

After her immense graciousness on Monday night. Took, what, forty-eight hours for that to wear off. Continue reading “Is It Over Yet?”

How Can People Be So Stupid?

Okay, maybe that isn’t the line from that heartbreaking ballad in Hair. Maybe it is. Like I am under some obligation to google every detail this constantly-associating, hard-at-work mind spits out? Hey, this is the land beyond right and wrong!

Clever, wot? But them’s the perks—and there ain’t many, honey—of being a writer. The privilege of defining your own turf, which you had fucking better well do. Be you writer or woman. Swim out beyond the breaks. Continue reading “How Can People Be So Stupid?”