blue girl

Damn Hippies

Was just listening to this...

While reading this...

I was trying to stand for something so I talked in the streets. Strangers passed me on the sidewalks and they looked away as if I was a tramp. In these times men aren’t supposed to talk about civil liberties or human rights while walking alone on the ordinary thoroughfares even though this is the country of Jefferson and Paine and Frederic Douglas. “Aha!” I thought. “I’ll get me one of those mobile telephones—not a real one of course, but one that’s been thrown away. And I’ll hold it next to my ear and talk about habeas corpus outside this Laundromat and people will say: "Ah, there is a man speaking the truth to someone unseen, but not to me—just the way we like it in America."

Read the rest of Steve Kuusisto's Fable here. Open a new window though, so you can hear both voices sing.

Anti-American Behavior in the Heartland

Just saw this lovely post and thought I'd write quickly about what happened here about an hour ago.

I was home alone talking to my sister on the phone when the doorbell rang.

"Hold on a second. The doorbell just rang. Who the heck could it be?!"

For some reason, I always feel I am under assault when my doorbell rings. It's turned into a thing. I have no idea why.

I read in my Portable Dorothy Parker awhile back that Parker just expected things to go wrong. So every time her doorbell rang, she would yell out, "What fresh hell is this?!"

As I walked to the front door, I was saying what I said above but I was thinking What fresh hell is this?!

I looked out the frosted glass window.

My sister said, "Who is it?"

"I don't know. It's a man though. He sort of looks like Columbo."

For a few seconds I thought of not answering the door at all. (What is wrong with me?) I opened the door.

A nice looking man with a kind face, in his mid to late 50s, wearing a suit and tie underneath a tan trenchcoat put his hand out and introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm David Yaddayadda from up the street."

"Hi."

He put his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels. Looking behind him at our front yard he said, "You used to have an Obama sign out front, didn't you?"

I'm thinking Secret Service? Gitmo, here I come!

"Um, yeah."

"Got stolen? Ours, too. I have a few extra in my car. Would you like one of them?"

"Oh, yeah! Geez. Thanks."

My sister is talking in my ear, "Oh my God! That is so nice! That is what America should be! That is just great! Tell him I said how great he is!"

He walked back up and gave me a new Obama/Biden yard sign.

"Thank you so much. That was really nice of you."

"Ah, it's ok."

"Nice meeting you."

"You, too!" And he was off.

No fresh hell this time. At least not the kind Burnt Orange Report's Wagwa experienced. Then again, he/she might live in the Pro-America part of the country.

When "Hoping for the Best" Means Two Different Things

Just got off the phone with a friend. A very close friend. A friend who I told by the end of our conversation that I may never be able to speak to him again. The way our conversation went is one reason I've avoided him since August.

He leaves me voicemails:

"It's me. You never call! You never write! Where are you? Call me back."

I had to call him about work this morning and the election came up.

He said, "Well, all we can hope for now is that the Bradley effect kicks into gear."

"So, what you're saying is you hope people are dirty, rotten, racist liars?"

I told him to go to Bob's blog and read the header.

Sue left a comment here awhile ago:

Actually, I'm curious about what will happen to those among us who've been living on anger for lo these many years. Some of the blogs I read are full of tight, targeted rage and if dreams come true in November, where will they go with it? This fury is what's been keeping people going through the whole mess; it's what has allowed them to work toward the day that I hope finally comes in November. I really expect cases of some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder equivalent if Obama wins and the goal (sort of) is reached. I'm curious about where this rage will go, and on the other side of the issue, actually afraid of how some of the "terrorist/kill him" rage (oh, sorry, enthusiastic rally support) will manifest itself should Obama win.

With decent people, (and I've always considered my friend a decent person) hoping that people are rotten, racist liars now, what are they--and the out and out crazy nutjobs--going to do when they are faced with a President Barack Hussein Obama?

Such a scary thought to think where all the fury and rage--on both sides--will be directed. But, it's easy to imagine. I hope I'm wrong.

Coming Down the Homestretch

Wolcott:

I harbor no grand illusions about Obama, he isn't my messiah (I don't have a messiah, the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson supplying more than enough transcendence to last a lifetime), and I'm still not sure how much he comprehends how gravely this country has been gutted over the last decade. My rooting interest is less about Obama himself than about how big a hurt he can put to the Republican Party. I don't want the Republican Party simply defeated in November, I want to see it smashed beyond all recognition, in such wriggling, writhing, anguished disarray that it can barely reconstitute itself, so desperate for answers that it looks to Newt Gingrich for visionary guidance, his wisdom and insight providing the perfect cup of hemlock to finish off the conservative movement for good so that it can rot in the salted earth of memory unmissed and unmourned in toxic obscurity.

Something Was Ricocheting Around My Living Room Last Night, But it Wasn't Little Mesmerizing, Sparkling Starbursts

Rich Lowry at the National Review Online via Wolcott:

I'm sure I'm not the only male in America who, when Palin dropped her first wink, sat up a little straighter on the couch and said, "Hey, I think she just winked at me." And her smile. By the end, when she clearly knew she was doing well, it was so sparkling it was almost mesmerizing. It sent little starbursts through the screen and ricocheting around the living rooms of America.

Oh my God. Wonder why she plays those folksy games? That's why.

Like Wolcott said...

Good thing Palin didn't blow a kiss at the camera or Lowry might have fucking fainted.

On Truth and BS

I went downstairs last night and Blue Kid was watching the 7:00pm repeat of Hardball.

"Mom? He keeps saying 'Joe Sixpack'. He's said it a hundred times."

"I know."

"I keep hearing it. They said it on the show before this. Why are they saying it? It's so ignorant."

"Because Sarah Palin said something like, 'It's time for Joe Sixpack to be represented by the Vice Presidency.'"

"Well, that's ignorant."

"I know."

Chris Matthews cut to the clip of Katie Couric's interview where she asked Sarah Palin what newspapers or magazines she reads to stay informed.

Blue Kid said, "All of them? Any of them that have been in front of her?!"

"I know."

"Every time she talks, she makes George Bush sound like a genius."

"Eh, I don't know. They seem like soulmates to me."

"Joe Biden says dumb things too, though."

"I know."

"But, not like that!"

"I know. I read something a couple of days ago that said that there are literate BS'ers and illiterate liars. Joe Biden's the first and Sarah Palin's the second. And there are people who prefer listening to the first and people who prefer listening to the second."

He stopped and thought for a minute then said, "Who says?"

"A blogger named IOZ. He was quoting a book called On BS. I've got the book."

Blue Kid's never been much of a reader and I think it's because I've always wanted him to be one and I've always been too vocal about it. I got up, went over to the bookshelf, grabbed On Bullshit and On Truth and set them down on the coffee table in front of him.

He glanced at them but didn't say anything. After several minutes he said, "Well, I'll take the literate BS'er."

"Well then, you'd be called a Cosmopolitan Smartass as opposed to a Joe Sixpack. And Cosmpolitan Smartasses actually do read sometimes. So feel free to read any of them or all of them that are in front of you!"

He just rolled his eyes.

I probably shouldn't have pushed it. But, I'm figuring...what 16 year old Cosmopolitan Smartass can resist a book called On Bullshit?

You Gotta Live it Everyday

I don't want aif and Dennis to find comfort in despair and disgust. I'd rather they find comfort in loud music. Like me.

With Friends Like This...

If only I were a stranger in some far off land, one that Joe Biden might back the bombing of one day, maybe -- just maybe -- Dennis Perrin wouldn't rip me to shreds.

Not So Fantastic

Like Will said, the McCain campaign is indeed a class act:

In an election campaign notable for its surprises, Sarah Palin, the Republican vice- presidential candidate, may be about to spring a new one — the wedding of her pregnant teenage daughter to her ice-hockey-playing fiancé before the November 4 election.

Inside John McCain’s campaign the expectation is growing that there will be a popularity boosting pre-election wedding in Alaska between Bristol Palin, 17, and Levi Johnston, 18, her schoolmate and father of her baby. “It would be fantastic,” said a McCain insider. “You would have every TV camera there. The entire country would be watching. It would shut down the race for a week.”

Will again:

On a more serious note, it’s really interesting to see the extent to which McCain’s strategists seem to believe that his victory depends on ongoing variations on the “suspend the campaign” theme. First it was the hurricane, then the financial “crisis”, and now they’re ginning up some Britney Spears-style media spectacle to divert attention from their increasingly gruesome candidate. Why, it’s almost like they want to divert attention away from McCain!

Finally, for all the comic relief their crazy asses have provided, I truly feel sorry for the Palins. I feel sorry for Sarah Palin, who is obviously nothing more to the McCain camp than a piece of meat to toss to the GOP’s wingnut base. She got them on board, and now it’s obvious that McCain doesn’t give a damn that she’s becoming a national laughing-stock. I also feel sorry for Bristol Palin. Both the McCain camp and her mother should have given a LOT more thought to what Palin’s candidacy would mean for this young woman, since it was more or less inevitable that news of her pregnancy would get out. I may not share the Republican’s newfound belief that teen pregnancy is fantastic, but I’m not in favor of public humiliation either.

The whole thing has been a cruel farce, and speaks volumes not only about John McCain’s judgement, but about his character…or lack thereof.

Yep. If it wasn't all so fantastic, it would be rather...sad.

Now, watch this drive.

I mean, click that link. Will and I are fighting!

And I'm winning. Of course.

Sign of the Times

For the last few weeks I've wanted to get an Obama/Biden sign for our yard. And all I've done about it is think...Hmmm, I'd like to get an Obama/Biden sign for our yard.

We live in what I think is a conservative neighborhood. But, back in 2004, I went to a Kerry rally and came home with lawn signs. When I got home, I got one out of the trunk. Looked left, looked right and tip-toed to the front yard to shove it in the grass and then run back in the house.

I planted the sign in the center of the yard and when I turned to run, there were my old German neighbors in the driveway!

"Vat ah you doing?!"

"Ah! Eh, um, well, you know, putting a lawn sign in."

"Dat eez goot! You don staht vars ven you don huv to! Vee also suppuht Keddy!"

"Oh! Goot, goot, goot!"

That night I got a voicemail from the neighbor on the other side of us. She was whispering urgently into the phone. "Blue Girl. We saw your yard sign. Just wanted to let you know, we're with you 100%. We don't get this country anymore. Just wanted to let you know. Go Kerry. Bye."

Now, I wouldn't care what anyone thought of us putting an Obama/Biden sign in the yard. Especially the person I followed out of the neighborhood a few days ago with a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker on their back window with a NoBama sticker above it.

This afternoon The Skimmer and I walked outside and there one was!

I have no idea how it got there. But, thank you, whoever you are.

Veddy, veddy goot!