The Voice of Treason

“Everybody was talking. ‘Marion?’ called Louise. Everybody quieted. ‘Marion, answer me, are you afraid?’ Marion didn’t answer. The husband stood there, at the bottom of the cellar steps. Louise called ‘Marion, are you there?’ No answer. The room was silent.

– The October Game, Ray Bradbury

It’s Halloween and I’m trying to decide which is scarier: this classic Bradbury tale or the prospect of John Kerry being Commander-in-Chief. I’m furious that he has been handed, by the networks, and on a silver platter, the opportunity to stump for his ‘08 campaign. I know he’s both nuanced and humorless, so the “joke” last night was neither amusing nor “crystal clear.” What was clear in his news conference today was that he is taking advantage of a situation a week before midterms and making it “crystal clear” that he’s running for president…still.

The horror…the horror.

But, on a lighter note, I’d like to take an opportunity today to discuss disease, death, and what happens afterwards. All this talk lately about stem cell research has me somewhat irritated that we’re still unable to have an intelligent debate on the subject. Michael J. Fox, campaigner for Democrats on behalf of this issue, had been invited to appear on The Factor but declined. Bill O’Reilly was gracious, explaining that Fox was unable to appear and suggesting that Mr. Fox simply isn’t able to. His health, understandably, is an issue. But then Fox appeared on CBS with Katie and on ABC with George. There he admitted he hasn’t actually read the amendment that apparently only five or six people have.

I’m not going to criticize Michael J. Fox because, frankly, I’ve always liked the guy. His position is understandable. Based on my family history I should be in favor of any research whatsoever to cure the types of illnesses that, because of genetics, I will probably face in my lifetime. Several of those diseases are often mentioned in any discussion of adult and embryonic stem cell research. Alzheimer’s, for one. Oh, and then there was my aunt Ida who was diagnosed with a form of what John “The Elephant Man” Merrick suffered from. And whether that was a form of elephantiasis, neurofibromatosis, or Proteus Syndrome, I don’t know, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. Every time I find a new skin tag on my body I wonder if, like my aunt, I’ll one day be completely covered with them.

I do support adult stem cell research. Embryonic? Not so much. I just don’t trust humanity to do the right thing. Harvesting embryos, cloning, selling body parts…give people an inch and they’ll take a mile. It sounds like this is another “follow the money” issue. Who really benefits here?

Now, harvesting organs - er, rather, donating them - is an entirely different matter. I’m always surprised at the reaction I get when I explain that on my license it clearly states that I will happily donate my organs. (I used to donate blood on a regular basis and I admit I’m long overdue on giving. I need to get off the stick and get back on a schedule. Jeez, I suck.)

Regarding my organs: Gut me like a fish! Filet me! Help yourselves - take seconds! Just make sure you incinerate the leftovers.

My only hope is that when I die they’re usable and can be harvested. I’m a big believer in recycling. Why toss it when someone might be able to use it? Yet when I tell people about wanting to have my body sliced and diced, then incinerated, it’s almost as if I’ve said, “I love Dick Cheney!” The looks on people’s faces - you can’t imagine.

I realize some are squeamish about these things or have religious or cultural beliefs about keeping the body intact, then placing it in the ground. Nope. I want to donate as much of me as possible, then be reduced to a small pile of ash. I don’t even care if I don’t end up in a tasteful urn. Fertilize a tree with my remains - who cares? Frankly, I don’t care what condition I’m in or in how many pieces when I’m incinerated. I’d just like the donation and incineration to occur after my death.

I fully expect to deal with illness, and if I’m diagnosed with a terminal one I’d be happy to be a guinea pig for science. Sure, I’ll try that pill or procedure - what the hell. Animals are brutalized in labs every day without consent - I’ll let myself be experimented on if I can spare a rat, monkey, or dog.

After all, the end result is always the same. I need to move on to make room for someone else. We all do. As “Dear Leader” would say: “It’s inevit…inevitabre.”

Dear Leader? Now that’s reeeeeaaaaally scary! (Happy Halloween and double-decker MoonPies for all!)

“I’ve never canceled a subscription to a newspaper because of bad cartoons or editorials. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have any newspapers or magazines to read.”

– Richard M. Nixon

For some reason I found myself awake and alert at five this morning, so I switched on Fox & Friends and started making coffee. I got as far as washing out the pot when I decided to have tea instead. I walked over to the books in the dining room and pulled one of Hopper paintings off the shelf. I have always loved the works of Edward Hopper.

I watched that Sean Hannity special on FNC last night and at the point when Sean and Mark Levin were telling Susan Estrich and Laura Schwartz that there was something inherently wrong with what James Webb puts in his novels, T looked at me and said:

“So what’s next? Book burning?”

Some on the Right really need to review Conservative principles and look at how they’re perceived by people who don’t appreciate being told that if they read a Webb novel they might just be a pervert. It’s the same issue I have with some Liberals. I don’t want to be regulated to the point where I can’t buy high fat, high calorie snacks if I want them, or say what I’m thinking. The extremes of both sides are…well, virtually the same. Intolerant, rigid, and nuts. Um, explain to me again how these two groups are all that different from radical Islamists?

I am with the Right on the existence of good and evil. But part of the fun is being exposed to both and choosing which one you prefer.

When someone like Hannity starts sounding like he thinks smut shouldn’t be available I get tense. There are people who appreciate a crucifix in urine and believe it has artistic value. There are probably even more people who think Edward Hopper was a hack. If you start restricting the arts, the day will come when someone will decide that Hopper paintings are dangerous and unhealthy because they tend to be “depressing.” We don’t want people depressed. We want them to look at happy pictures. Hopper must be removed from the museums. We must protect the children, the bipolar, the laid-off, and the lonely.

It’s why the Right is determined to keep guns. You come after my peanut butter cups and Hopper, and I’ll greet you at the door with an ultramodern, Guigiaro style Beretta .22 Neo. Keepa you hands offa my trans fats an’ books, capeesh?

But all seriousness aside, I’m starting to see why Conservatives are fine with Democrats taking Congress. I’m actually completely relaxed going into this election. I know exactly what to expect here: paper ballot confusion, long lines, frustration, voter fraud, “lost” ballots, and slooooow results. Same-o, same-o. But part of me is curious about what might happen if the Democrats win both the House and Senate. Some say they’ll keep a low profile because they won’t want to spoil their chances for 2008. Ah, so you’ll be like the Republicans who decided it was better to hold onto power than to do anything with the power they had, eh? Hmmm. So that’s what you call change?

It’s like that scene in Field of Dreams, when the young Archie Graham challenges the pitcher: “Let’s see that fastball.” I want to see that fastball. You say you’ll do something different, so let’s see it. Cuz if you expect people to vote for you for a “change” and you don’t deliver…well, I’m just saying that this could be interesting to watch.

Because that’s all I’ve heard. I haven’t heard specifics - just “whatever he’s for, we’re against.” The day after the Wilson/Madrid debate, T was having a cigarette on the patio and said, “If that’s as good as candidates get then even I could run for office.”

It’s funny, but I was thinking the same thing. I know I couldn’t run myself - I suspect I’d have a Marie Antoinette moment when the mic was turned on and the world would object to my “Let them eat MoonPies!” statement.

“You should sit down and read the voter guide that came in the Sunday paper. Check out some of these people who are running. Look at their resumes. Look at what they’re saying. And you think Halloween is scary?”

Now T is the least biased, least prejudiced, and least partisan person I know. Frankly, because he just doesn’t care enough to give a crap. He suddenly perked up.

“Do me a favor. Get that guide and cover up the candidates. Don’t let me see what they’re running for or who they are. I don’t want to see names, party, photos, background - anything. I just want to read their answers to the questions. Will you do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

I recommend this to anyone who has such a guide. This was fascinating to watch. He had a whole system of evaluating statements and awarding points for the quality of each answer. He didn’t compare candidates’ answers, either. He based it all on how each answered the questions.

I watched him read Bill Richardson’s response to a particular question and hoped he’d have the same one I did when I read it. He did.

“WHAT??? What kind of answer is that? That’s not even an answer!”

The question was: “Would you support or oppose a state law to ban cockfighting in New Mexico?”

The answer was: “I intend to address this issue during the next legislative session.”

What? Oh, Bill, that’s just so weasely! What’s your position? How do you feel about your state being the only one besides Louisiana to allow cockfighting? Shame on you for such a lame response. And for the one about getting “junk food out of schools.” Oh, don’t get me started.

Ah, but there were others. It’s funny how T ended up “voting” on these candidates, but it was even more amusing to look at the responses and really see all the code words and, worse, the total lack of information. I’m sorry to say that it was the Democrats who were more often guilty of avoiding answering the questions with specifics.

Our Democrat friend Tim, who was at the hockey game last Friday, is still struggling with his decision.

“You saw the debate, right?”

“Don’t pick on our candidate for being an idiot. It’s not like you guys haven’t elected people who can’t speak.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a debate where a candidate has stood there and nothing has come out. I was waiting for cricket sounds. I mean, usually they say too much or say something wrong. I’ve never seen one say nothing for such an agonizingly long time. I told T if someone on Wilson’s side doesn’t use that clip as an ad, I’ll be pissed off. They should insert the cricket sounds or have a timer ticking off seconds at the bottom of the screen while we wait for Patsy to finally say something. Just incredible.”

“How do you think I feel? I agree with at least a third of what Heather stands for, but I don’t even know what my candidate believes. I know what I’ll get if I vote for Heather, but I don’t have a clue what Patsy thinks.”

“And that makes two of you.”

The next day I saw the ad and screamed: “She did it! She did it! Oh, thank God, she did it!” All it is is the clip directly from the debate. The candidates in their own words…or lack thereof. No timer, no crickets chirping. But deadly effective.

It’s the best ad of the season, it’s true, it’s real, and it’s probably just too damned late to make a difference.

“Ancient Romans did not go around saying ‘Boy, this decline and fall is really the pits,’ but then they didn’t have cable.”

– Florence King, National Review/November 6, 2006

The venerable Miss King, a self-described “Protestant-atheist elitist conservative neo-royalist” and possibly the Edward Gibbon of our day, never fails to deliver. As long as she continues to write, my little “empire” will be bearable. Well, as bearable as it can be, considering none of us is able to extract him or herself from the increasingly slippery Slope.

I have a confession to make. I missed Game 5 of the World Series. Sort of. We had been invited to a hockey game - the first one of the new season in the brand new venue - and we accepted before we realized there would be a schedule conflict. It is rude to accept an invitation, commit to someone, then bail once you’ve realized you’ve made an error in judgment. We left the game on for the dog and recorded it, hoping that if we weren’t home to witness it the Tigers might actually win.

We did end up watching it the next day - sort of. In the twelve years we’ve been here we’ve had cable but have been unable to get a clear reception on local channels. They say it’s because of “sun spots.” Uh-huh. Anyway, the picture was just terrible, but I do recommend watching a ballgame on fast-forward. It’s an eye-opener.

What was interesting about this hockey game, though, was that once again we’ve built something without providing access to it. It took a long time to drive to the place on a one-lane road under construction, but we listened to the Series on the car radio. The highlight of the evening was seeing Bill Richardson at the game. He had a seat in the section directly across the rink from us. It’s always nice for us when our governor actually makes an appearance in our state. Bienvenidos a Nuevo Mexico, Bill!

There is no question that he will be re-elected. Even FNC is smitten with him: “Oooh! A Democrat who actually cuts taxes!” I’ll throw Bill a bone. A small one. He did cut taxes. Do I like that I don’t have to pay tax on food items anymore? Yes! Yes, I do. Do I like that I have to now pay higher taxes on other things in order to make the tax cut on food possible? Uh, no, not so much.

Speaking of throwing Bill a bone, if he somehow doesn’t end up on the ticket in 2008, will he be offered a consolation prize? Can he walk away from the governorship to accept a Cabinet position, like Secretary of State?

I will say one positive thing about the man. Because he’s running for President, his ads have been better than most of the rotgut out there. Our local ads are wretched enough, but for once I’m actually relieved to be living here and not in a state where the ads are even worse.

Don’t get me started on the whole Ford/Corker thing - I’m still reeling over the Allen/Webb debacle. I actually had to turn off talk radio and cable news on Friday because I couldn’t take one more second of hearing about the lurid passages in Webb’s novels.

God save us. How low on the Slope have we slipped? No, I’m not talking about Webb - I’m talking about Allen! And shame on those who harped on this. Just when I thought I was the only sane member of the V.R.W.C., I heard Michelle Malkin begging people to just please stop the stupidity. “It’s fiction! Grow up!” Good Lord, no wonder Liberals hate us.

First it was “who said the N-word?”, then macaca, then the Jewish mother surprise, and now it’s all about smut. Webb quips that he didn’t know Allen even read books. I’m starting to wonder that myself. But instead of ending it there, Webb brings to light old arrests. Shoot - I’d like to arrest Allen right now for being such a dumbass.

Says Florence King:

“The bizarre death of Steve Irwin sent a shudder round the world, mingling the chastening terror of an ancient mythological curse with the sophomoric idiocy of the worst of the Jaws spin-offs. Commentators intrigued by odds said that the circumstances of Irwin’s death couldn’t come together again in a thousand years, but they were wrong. It happened again the very same month, right where I live, when George Allen became his own stingray.”

Florence King, as always, makes a good point about Allen — and the Romans, too. But could they have - even without cable - sat around and talked about how the Empire was turning to crap?

“Oh, Cassius.”

“Yes, Lucilla?”

“I was talking to Hilaria and Drusilla the other day, and we were wondering if it was appropriate to bring the children to the games.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that Hilaria’s friend Fabius works at the arena and says that before the lions go out in front of the crowd, they’re teased and poked and sometimes they aren’t given any food.”

“Have you met this Fabius?”

“Uh-huh. He seems genuine. And he’s nice enough. Do you remember him from the festivus? He brought wine.”

“Oh! Yes, I remember - a very good vintage, too. Marcellus and Septimus, wasn’t it?”

“I think you’re right. Don’t forget to remind me to pick up some of that before we go over to Urbana and Spurius’ place next week.”

“Will Fabius be there?”

“It’s possible. You really need to hear what he has to say about the horrid conditions of the cages. Days go by before anyone thinks to clean them. I can’t imagine anyone being so cruel.”

“Well, Lucilla, you are more sensitive than the average Roman.”

“It’s just that it might not be such a good idea to expose the children to this kind of abuse. They might think we’re condoning it.”

“I see your point, really I do. But I paid a lot for these tickets, Lu. And it’s a sell-out: Tigers versus Christians. You know how much the kids love those big cats.”

“But if they mistreat the lions, don’t you think they’re mistreating the tigers, too?”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“I just hate to disappoint the children. They had their hearts set on this. You know Herminius. Doesn’t his cousin know Cresentius?”

“In the Senate?”

“Uh-huh! Don’t you think that Herminius could get Cresentius to get the whole Senate to put a stop to this unethical treatment of innocent animals?”

“What do you suggest?”

“Get him some of that Marcellus and Septimus!”

“Lucilla, you’re a genius! I’m sure he’ll look into the matter for us.”

“Wonderful! Then taking the children to the games can be something we can all feel good about!”

I’m reminded of the recent South Park episode. I like Parker and Stone, but if the appearance of Steve Irwin and the stingray was the only thing that viewers found offensive, it’s no wonder Islamo-Imperialists hate us.

Okay, okay. To be fair, in the four seasons of The First 48 there have been fifty episodes and fewer than a half dozen were shot in Kansas City. It’s just odd that when I decide to watch the show, those are the episodes airing. Is someone trying to tell me something?

Nevertheless, I’m still keeping my eye on other states’ elections. Frankly, because I’m always considering moving to a more promising state. But based on what I’ve seen of candidates, political ads, and televised debates, I’m starting to consider relocation outside the continental United States. Truth be told, I’m looking at other galaxies.

We had driven through America’s midsection looking for hope. Not the city in Arkansas, but rather that thing that gives you incentive to get up in the morning. Dodge City was only a grim reminder of the future. You know it’s a problem when Paul Harvey takes the time, as he did just this week, to bring it to listeners’ attention. Eleven year-old Hispanic boys, he said, are shooting each other in the streets of Dodge City.

And then there’s ACORN. Everywhere I’ve lived there’s been voter fraud: why would I be surprised that ACORN is registering imaginary voters in Kansas City? Throughout “The Innards of America” - the description of our Heartland tour here on The V.O.T. - I refer to Missouri as a blue state. By the end I had corrected myself, but maybe I wasn’t wrong, after all. I’ve been keeping an eye on the grassroots effort there to change the state color and it appears that if Missouri doesn’t go blue this November it will, at best, be purple.

I’d mentioned a website during the tour and I still visit it. And there’s another I read regularly, as well. The first, Raytown Progressive Action (Organizing For Progressive Action in Raytown, Missouri), is a more strident political site, and the second, Gone Mild (Aging Gracefully and Dispensing Wisdom From Kansas City), as that name might suggest, is a more readable, thoughtful one. I’ve determined that Dan, the author of Gone Mild, is my age. A devoted St. Louis Cardinals fan, he waxes poetic about the 1968 team the way I do about my team: the 1969 Chicago Cubs. He says he was eight in ‘68; I was nine in ‘69. I can read Dan, who is clearly on the other side of the political scale, because he is generally reasonable, tries hard to be balanced, displays a sense of humor, and regularly exhibits an appreciation of many things that I hold dear. Where we would be unable to converse like adults would be on the subjects of Reagan and Clinton. I might go into detail on this another time, but I’ll say here that when he writes about Bill he always follows his name with something akin to “God, I miss him!” There’s something about this that reminds me of Muslims who are required to say “peace be upon him” every time they speak of Muhammad. (It’s a tad creepy, Dan.)

Anyway, I’ve noticed that as we get closer to election time, it’s become more difficult to read these sites. I believe Dan is attempting to remain as sensible as possible, but it’s the people who comment on his posts who are getting a tad irrational. These are individuals who insist that, as Democrats, they are smarter and superior to those hick Republicans, yet as we draw nearer to November 7, these people are sounding more and more like government school meatheads. They’ve even forgotten how to spell and construct simple sentences. Could it be true what T says? Does partisanship really make you stupid?

There are certainly plenty of examples to cite this election season. Frankly, too many to list here. Let me just refer to one that is actually related to the topic of Missouri. I don’t even want to get into the debate over Michael J. Fox and Rush, or the nature of the ad, or even my position on stem cell research. No, I’ll save that for another day.

My irritation with the ad in question is less with the importance of the issue and more with marketing. I’m having trouble with the concept of truth in advertising. No, I’m not talking about misrepresentation of Claire McCaskill’s opponent’s stand on stem cells. I’m not talking about Fox, his position on the issue, or the supposed exploitation of his illness. I’m not talking about my frustration with the absence of facts regarding stem cell research in general. No, I’m talking about what is ridiculous, but still determines the results of elections all over the world.

You see, my Dutch grandmother, Bessie, was so enamored of Teddy Roosevelt that she, in 1906, named my father after him. Sure, T.R. was young and energetic, but was she smitten with his looks or his policies? I wonder: If she had had television and Internet access, would she have done the same?

I have spent many years around actors and believe me, I’m not being snarky or catty here, but it’s hard to describe what it’s like to be looking at someone in front of you, their resume, and their five…ten…twenty year-old headshot. If I have to see that antediluvian headshot of Claire McCaskill again my head will explode.

Please believe me when I say that looks are not that important to me. I’m still irritable over the televised Kennedy/Nixon debates. Too often I’ve watched debates on TV and listened to them on radio, and I tell you: The two are completely different creatures.

I’m not even sure I knew what Claire looked like until I saw, on Gone Mild, her ancient headshot compared to a photo of her opponent Jim Talent - who Dan ungraciously describes as fish-like. Claire, in her photo, looks a little like FNC’s Page Hopkins. Young, trim, blonde. Quite attractive.

Then I saw the real Claire. Again, not to be snarky or catty, because I really disliked the attacks on Linda Tripp and Katherine Harris, and I detest them, too, when they’re aimed at Hillary. My beef with Hillary isn’t her looks, and if Republicans think they can build a campaign on that, 2008 is going to be uglier than any unflattering photo of Hill they can dig up.

Now, according to Dan, Claire sent a letter to bloggers, asking them to avoid posting any nastiness regarding her race with Talent. Keep it true, keep it dignified. Let’s not get personal or negative.

“No election is worth this, and I believe that we need to set an example. As tempting as it might be, especially in the anonymous world of the web, to get down in the mud with them, I hope we can all resist the temptation. Please. It’s important…Let’s win this thing the old fashioned way…with great ideas, hard work, and good manners.”

That’s admirable, keeping it true, but my issue, once more, is the whole truth in advertising thing. People sometimes base their vote on looks, and Claire simply does not resemble that old photo anymore. Hell, I don’t look like my four year-old driver’s license photo anymore, so I certainly wouldn’t use it if I were running for office.

I’m sure Dan in Kansas City looks at Claire and doesn’t see that she just doesn’t match her headshot. He is blinded by partisanship. I understand completely. As a partisan myself, I tried not to be offended when George Bush recently chewed his roll the way a yak chews withered leaves and twigs.

But if Dan thinks that the Cardinals won the World Series because they played so well, he’s fooling himself. They won because the Tigers played so badly, losing on fundamentals. The simple, no-brainer rules of baseball. Like how, when, and to whom to throw the ball.

If Republicans lose Congress next week, it won’t be because the Democrats showed particular skill, it will be because the Republicans consistently and annoyingly dropped the ball and allowed the other side to snatch victory away.

As a die-hard Cubs fan would be expected to say, “There’s always next year!,” but, like the Cubbies, if the Republicans don’t get some crackerjack management in place, play by the rules, and remember the basics, they’ll be playing to lose.

It’s been a couple months since our illustrious road trip with the dog through Middle America - The Heartland Tour - in which she sampled grass in six states, saw a woodchuck, swam in a lake, spent a day in a pontoon, went whisker to whisker with a catfish, and briefly held a toad in her mouth. Since our return to the desert the three of us have celebrated birthdays and we have made a decision.

Are we moving to the Midwest? Not quite yet. For now our job is to make sure every day is a fun day for the dog. Her favorite thing since being home is to go through a neighborhood near the river where peacocks roam. When I return to the workforce I might choose to work nights - something I haven’t done in years - just so I can be home with her during the day. It’s clear her time is limited: we want her to have as much of our attention as her ailing brother did. Now is not the time to uproot this dog.

Nor is it a good time to sell our house. For now we will work towards downsizing and reducing the amount of our “stuff.” Kansas City is still an option, but it’s not like we’re in love with the place. When we were at the vet’s office he asked if we were moving.

“Not yet. We just don’t want to uproot the dog. This is her home.”

“But what did you think of KC?”

“Well, there was much to like. Not impressed with Dodge City - they’re having gang issues.”

“Really? Hadn’t heard that.”

“But we liked Abilene -”

“Oh, I’m with you there. If you could see it around the holidays - they really get into it. It’s fantastic.”

“Pratt and Kingman were charming -”

“Oh, yeah, Pratt! I always liked Pratt. Nice little town. You know, sometimes it’s tempting to move up there so we can raise our son around the Mennonites. We wouldn’t have to worry about all this crap he has to deal with here. But…cattle freeze to death in the winter in Kansas. In all the years I’ve been here I’ve never seen that.”

We were reminded of when we were considering moving to North Dakota with our friend, Tom, who ended up in Missouri. Tom had been raised on a farm in North Dakota.

“It’s not like you’ll be able to go outside to smoke a cigarette or walk the dog. The dog won’t even want to go pee in the yard when it’s sixty below. You can freeze to death, you know. And at those temperatures it doesn’t really take that long.”

No place is perfect. Every time I watch our local news I want to call a realtor: “Just sell the thing and let me get the hell out of here!” But, if I recall, the local news broadcasts in Kansas and Missouri didn’t exactly inspire relocation.

Why is it that every time I tune into The First 48, I’m looking at dead bodies in either Kansas City, Kansas or Kansas City, Missouri? Hmmmm. I’m just wondering if this show has done for KC what COPS has done for Albuquerque.

More tomorrow…

I said something yesterday on The V.O.T. that I felt could be interpreted as an insult to Southerners. That was certainly not my intention, so allow me to clarify. What I said was this: “I think another Southerner in the White House would be a mistake.”

You can scroll down and read the entire section if you like, but what I was saying was that after eight years of Bush, eight years of Clinton, and four years of Bush’ dad who had some issues with oratory, it would be refreshing to take a break from “plain speaking” and move towards candidates - possibly Northerners - who have speech patterns and dialects that could be more difficult to imitate or mock. For variety’s sake, I said.

Don’t misunderstand. I would enjoy a candidate - a President - who sounded like John Cullum, as South Carolinian Edward Rutledge, in 1776.

“Molasses to rum to slaves
Who sails the ships back to Boston?
Ladened with gold, see it gleam
Whose fortunes are made in the triangle trade?
Hail slavery, the New England dream!
Mr. Adams, I give you a toast:
Hail Boston! Hail Charleston!
Who stinketh the most?”

Where are those eloquent Southern gentlemen of yesteryear? All I was saying is that it would be nice to have a little formality restored to the office. A little eloquence. Virginia’s George Allen is regarded as a Southerner, but — truth be told — George was born in Southern California and raised both on the West Coast and in the suburbs of Chicago. But he has a mild twang and wears cowboy boots, so he is mocked. The problem with George is not where he’s from or what he wears on his feet; the problem is how he fumbled the recent macaca/Jewish mother controversy.

But now that I’ve mentioned George, it reminds me of the old line: “If your mother is Jewish, you’re Jewish.” Italians tend to think the same way. If your mother’s Italian, you’re Italian. As for me, I was raised by my Italian mother and had more contact with her and her family and, because I looked more like them, was considered genetically closer to them and not to my father’s English/Dutch family. My father’s English/Dutch/Virginian family. Relatives, incidentally, that I’ve never met.

It’s funny because I often hear from people that I don’t “look Italian.” I would have guessed English, they say. Is that because everyone assumes that all Italians are short, dark, and furry? My mother, like my father, is fair and blue-eyed. Mom’s a Munchkin, of course, but most of her siblings and her mother were quite tall. Eye color in her family runs the gamut: brown, blue, green, hazel. Hair: brown, blond, auburn. Long legs, long arms (my siblings and I could always tie our shoes without bending over). True, I do not look like Sophia Loren (damn), but I can tell that I am a product of both my mother and father because I have inherited traits from each side of the family tree.

As for my father, he left the horse farms of the Shenandoah Valley as a teen, hopped a train with his Boston Terrier, Sally, and headed for Chicago. And he was kept by a wealthy older woman who taught him all about…decorum. My father was brilliant, had a wonderful speaking voice, perfect penmanship, and could do anything he set his mind to. He loved Chicago and the Cubs and he enjoyed the cool, dark interior of the tavern.

My mother said he was exciting and charming and had her completely hoodwinked. She said he claimed his family came over on the Mayflower. Unlikely - I’ve seen the ship’s roster. Or maybe he said it was another ship - my mother was never an attentive listener. I assumed it was just something people said about their family history, but in recent years I’ve done some research about my father’s family - which seems to have settled heavily in Virginia and Kentucky - and there are photographs of family tombstones placed in Virginia soil in the 1700’s that are still there today. Perhaps Dad wasn’t blowing smoke, after all.

As I get older I find I’m getting more in touch with my inner ribelle. That’s Italian for rebel. A dirty word these days if you’re referring to the South. I prefer ribelle because there’s a “belle” inside it. But no mint juleps and cotillions for me, thank you.

No, I’ve been exploring my Southern roots and I’ve discovered one of the best ways to do it is to settle down with a case of double-decker MoonPies. No grits, no biscuits and gravy. No, I prefer Southern delicacies like chocolate covered, vanilla cr�me center Krispy Kremes; sweet potato, peach, and pecan pie; and GooGoo Clusters.

Living in Nuevo Mexico reminds me why I like posole. Even when I was little, I liked hominy. But, as I was sitting here the other day debating whether I should get up and go to the kitchen for another 300-calorie MoonPie, I heard something on the radio that got my Southern hackles up.

New legislation is being proposed and something caught my ear. The issue concerns the parking of one’s vehicle on one’s lawn. Since traditional lawn isn’t especially common in the desert, the law will extend to those who park vehicles on rocks, gravel, and weeds, too. Or any combination that constitutes their “yard.”

It’s called the Goober Amendment. Uh…am I to assume that New Mexicans are parking their cars on…peanuts? I immediately complained to T who thought I was silly for finding the term offensive.

“So what? What’s a goober, anyway? I can only think of that character on - what was it - The Andy Griffith Show? What’s the big deal?”

“I think it’s intentional. It’s meant to be derogatory.”

“You’re sounding like someone who is looking to be offended.”

“It’s insulting to Southerners. It assumes that people who live in the South are stupid and classless and think cars are lawn ornaments.”

“You’re overreacting.”

And then I found myself quoting the MoonPie website:

“Aaaarrrggghhh! It’s a Southern thing… you just wouldn’t understand!”

Well! I’m certain the term wasn’t meant as a compliment. But, for now, I think I’ll have a nice cup of tea…and maybe another MoonPie…and I’ll…I’ll just think about that other thing tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day!

Kim Jong Il: Now you see, the changing of the worrd is inevitabre!
Lisa: I’m sorry, it’s what?
Kim Jong Il: Inevit, inevitabre.
Lisa: One more time.
Kim Jong Il: Inevitabre! Things are inevitabrey going to change! Goddammit, open your f*cking ears!

– Team America: World Police

I keep hearing that it’s a “foregone conclusion.” Republicans will lose the House. Maybe the Senate, too, but most definitely the House. On the count of three, now: roll over and play dead.

You know, Republican voters have the right to be angry. We resent being put in this position of having to “choose between the lesser of two evils” or “holding our noses” at the polls. Especially this year, when it’s going to be difficult to simultaneously hold our noses and fill in all those little ovals on our paper ballots with our “special” pens.

But it’s not all gloom and doom. Just yesterday I heard P.J. O’Rourke talking about Nancy Pelosi: “Just her name evokes head lice.” P.J., simply put, has a way with words.

“Anyway, no drug, not even alcohol, causes the fundamental ills of society. If we’re looking for the source of our troubles, we shouldn’t test people for drugs, we should test them for stupidity, ignorance, greed and love of power.”

“In our brief national history we have shot four of our presidents, worried five of them to death, impeached one and hounded another out of office. And when all else fails, we hold an election and assassinate their character.”

“The Democrats are the party that says government will make you smarter, taller, richer, and remove the crabgrass on your lawn. The Republicans are the party that says government doesn’t work and then they get elected and prove it.”

Such a character, that Patrick O’Rourke. I can always count on him for a giggle. But I digress.

I’m hearing that voters must punish the Republicans and shouldn’t vote for them because it’s too much like rewarding them for a job not well done. And that makes perfect sense. But that also means that by not voting at all or by voting for the other party you’re rewarding Democrats. For what? For not being Republicans? See, that’s the part that never gets explained very clearly.

Voters have to look at what will be worse. Are you, as a Republican, up for the gloating when the Democrats take Congress? Do you want to see them take credit for the economy and anything else good that the Republicans had a little something to do with? Are you prepared to deal with the damage the Dems could do to the country?

Or, would Republicans squeaking out a slim victory and learning absolutely nothing from a near-death experience be even worse?

If Republicans can hold on, they’ll need to prove that they’ve learned their lesson. And be noisy about it. Get some fresh new faces, a new script, a reform agenda. Get somebody who can speak in complete sentences and can think on his/her feet.

Is Tony Snow the only person out there who can speak these days? I watched the only televised debate last night between our two District 1 candidates - Heather and Patsy - and it was even more painful to watch than the Tigers/Cardinals game. Occasionally Heather, who’s usually much more articulate, went off script and demonstrated that she was both listening and thinking. She delivered a couple good lines - they even seemed spontaneous - and she asked a few good questions. But the gaffes, the repetition, and the inability to get out more than a paragraph without tripping over her tongue was agonizing.

But Patsy! Oh, good Lord. Heather went to the Air Force Academy and has a Master’s and a doctorate in International Relations from Oxford. She is capable of deep thought and can articulate those thoughts. Last night, unfortunately, she was not at her best. But she was a helluva lot better than Patsy. I kept reminding myself that she has a degree in both English and Philosophy and is a lawyer and our Attorney General. Yet she was totally unprepared to debate, often made no sense, and spoke as if she had barely gotten through sixth grade. Any voter who watched this debacle and thought that she deserves a spot in the House of Representatives is either retarded or too partisan for his own good.

Yet T, who left the room in disgust after about six minutes of this, disagrees. He still thinks dumbed down voters can understand and relate to a Patsy and can’t follow the more complex speech patterns of a Heather. Smart, for some reason, is threatening to them.

On some level I tend to agree, but still hope there’s a chance for a change in thinking. Republicans need to pay attention to the current infatuation with Obama. I think another Southerner in the White House would be a mistake. I watched Bush’s hour-long press conference this morning and the twang and colloquialisms are wearing thin. I like the idea of plain speaking - I do - but I think after eight years of Bush and eight years of Clinton - not to mention four years of George Herbert who had his own communication issues - it’s time to restore a little formality to the office. I know the parties look to the South for support, but perhaps it’s time to find a candidate north of the Mason-Dixon just for variety’s sake.

Is it possible to find someone who will make impressionists’ jobs difficult? Someone who’s hard to imitate and mock? What would that be like for a change?

I heard Neal Boortz this morning, after the press conference, answer the same questions as if he were President. Priceless. And Laura Ingraham keeps running bits of Kenneth Branagh and the St. Crispin speech from Henry V (“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…”) and it reminds me that it’s not unreasonable for politicians to rely on scripts, but it would be refreshing to have some well-crafted ones.

Perhaps Patsy should have dusted off a few of her old college texts before last night. Yet she’s pulled way ahead in the polls…does she really have to worry about her utter lack of eloquence?

“Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.”

– Mark Twain

Before I attack Ted Kennedy for butchering the name of the Illinois freshman senator, I will actually cut him a little (but only a little) slack. Now that Barack Obama is America’s latest sweetheart and the media has jumped - simultaneously - on the Obama bandwagon, I’m hearing even more versions of his name. There’s the usual “bah-Rock” and now there is “barrack” - like military housing or Eric or Derrick. It makes me yearn for Bob Dole because Bob Dole was always referring to himself as Bob Dole so there was never any question that Bob Dole pronounced his name Bob Dole.

So Barack needs to set the record straight. No, not about whether he’s running for president in 2008, but rather what he wants to answer to. President Bah-ROCK Obama or President Barrack Obama.

The Senator is certainly charismatic, articulate, and attractive. So’s Hugh Jackman, but I wouldn’t vote for him for President. (Couldn’t even if I wanted to - he’s an Aussie.) But there’s something creepily Clintonian about him - Obama, not Jackman - that gives me the willies. His book, The Audacity of Hope, for instance. It was a word I liked before Bill Clinton got his hands on it. Hope. Eeeewww. Or cigar. Eeeewww. Or Oval Office.

And Obama has wanted to be leader of the free world for a very long time. Like Bill. Frankly, anyone who wants that job so desperately creeps me out. But, as of this moment, his chances look good. He’s photogenic and slim. And Americans hate fat people - even though most of us are pretty broad in the beam ourselves. See, we want - as we learned in 1992 - a President who’s “just like us!” Or, more accurately, the “us” we’d like to think we are. (A liar and adulterer? A doughy, pale-skinned, ill-tempered, lip-biting chatterbox?)

Obama has two years to turn the average American off, so I suggest he step back a little from the limelight. Still, I’ll take this opportunity to post my official list, in alphabetical order, of Democratic candidates for 2008 (sans Mark Warner):

1. Evan Bayh
2. Joe Biden
3. Wesley Clark
4. Hillary Clinton
5. Tom Daschle (who?)
6. Chris Dodd
7. John Edwards (a.k.a. the Breck Girl)
8. Russ Feingold
9. Algore (Inventor of the Internet)
10. John F. Kerry
11. Barack Obama
12. Bill Richardson (world traveler and Bill Clinton’s pimp)
13. Tom Vilsack

Did I forget anyone? Is Kucinich running again? It’s hard to tell. I keep seeing bumper stickers for him and can’t tell if they’re just leftovers from ‘04.

I’ll post my list of Republican candidates, too. Hmmm. Well, it was longer, but now that I’ve crossed off just about everyone on it…oh! Easy one. McCain, Frist, Romney.

(Pssssssst! Mitt! You’ve got two years…step back a little…)

“My old - very old - friend George Abbott, the director of On the Town, Damn Yankees, and Pal Joey, died in 1995 at the age of 107 while working on a revival of The Pajama Game. Several years earlier, in his late nineties, he’s given up playing tennis because all his partners had died. That’s the position America is facing in respect of its transnational social life: It’ll be turning up at the G-8, NATO, and other summits only to find that all its partners have died.”

– Mark Steyn, National Review/October 23, 2006

Steyn’s essay in NR is a good one - adapted from his most recent book, America Alone: The End of the World As We Know It. In it he describes “the rapid aging of almost every developed nation other than the United States: Canada, Europe, and Japan…” Says Steyn, “A society ages when its birth rate falls and it finds itself with fewer children and more grandparents.” A stable population, he explains, requires a Total Fertility Rate of 2.1 live births per woman. America’s hovering around there right now, but Canada is at 1.48, Europe is at 1.38, Japan is at 1.32, and Russia’s at 1.14. “These countries,” writes Steyn, “or, more precisely, these people, are going out of business.”

Just looking at recent celebrity deaths (Jane Wyatt, 96; Red Buttons, 87; June Allyson, 88; Shelley Winters, 85; Aaron Spelling, 83; Darren McGavin, 83) one can’t help get the feeling that we’re turning into a nation of geezers. I know of what I speak: I just had another birthday last week and if someone had told me that my mother would be celebrating her 83rd this year, I would have sneered. Some of us are just refusing to go gentle into that good night.

I’ve been aware of this trend for quite a while because Italians have been wringing their hands over their plummeting birth rate for years. Why aren’t Italian women breeding, the Italian government keeps asking. Well, I’m half Italian and I’ve never bred, and I can tell you my take on the subject. But that’s neither here nor there. Steyn’s concern is that society has chosen to “outsource its breeding.” After spending several days doing clinicals in local hospitals’ Labor & Delivery and Mother & Baby units, I can tell you that there is plenty of breeding going on where I live.

Very young women, mostly, unemployed, uninsured, unmarried, undereducated, and — in many cases — unable to speak English. Steyn cites Islam as “the principal supplier of new Europeans, and currently the second biggest supplier of new Canadians.” It reminds me of the scene in The Lion In Winter where the aging Henry is discussing strategy with the young, inexperienced Phillip.

“I can’t lose Henry. I have time. Just look at you. Great heavy arms. Each year they get a little heavier. The sand goes pit-pat in the glass. I’m in no hurry, Henry. I’ve got time.”

I think I just heard this week that Spain’s government is offering cash to Spanish women to breed. (Perhaps America’s Southwest could send them some of our fourteen year-old pregnant Mexican girls. After all, their roots go back to Espana. Deal?)

I understand the concern that the West is going to disappear. It’s tempting, I guess, to adopt a defeatist attitude and decide that since a Third World underclass, and then Islamo-Imperialists, will inherit the earth, why worry about the planet? Hell…should I even be wasting my time recycling?

My immediate concern, though, is the death of our culture. So many Americans are unfamiliar with the history and geography of their own country, the regional dialects and customs. The taste treats. If I were to ask the average Nuevo Mexican to tell me about the Southern tradition of MoonPies and RC Cola, or a Chicago-style hot dog or Italian beef sandwich, I’d get blank stares. But they’d be able to tell me all about biscochitos, empanadas, posole, and sopaipillas.

I’m reminded of a friend who’s always been involved in theatre and has her two daughters enrolled in a local performing arts school. One night they left a late rehearsal and were driving home when one of her daughters, age twelve, asked about some lights off in the distance.

“Oh, those,” said Mom. “That’s where they hold drag races.”

“Really? Drag racing?,” her daughter asked. “But how do they run in those high heels?”

At first I thought it was one of the funniest lines I’d ever heard, but then I was horrified that the girl knew about drag queens, but had never heard of drag racing. You know, the thing they do on a track with cars?

Call me sentimental, but I like parts of our culture. In college I minored in art and spent hours researching and writing about works of art that exist only in textbooks. I remember the horror of learning that the photo of the painting I was looking at in one of my books could never be seen because it was gone. Destroyed in the war. Blown off the face of the earth. Like the two thousand year-old Bamiyan Buddhas blown to bits by the Taliban.

I revealed my concerns to a T and a friend last Friday:

“I’m afraid we’re going to lose our art. Paintings, sculptures, architecture. The Louvre will be destroyed and Mona Lisa will be gone forever.”

“It’s just a painting.”

“No! It’s Mona!”

“And David’s a chunk of marble.”

“No!!!”

“And what if the Statue of Liberty is destroyed, so what?”

“I don’t ever want to see that.”

“I know you love the thing, but it’s only a symbol. If the Statue of Liberty blew up tomorrow, nothing would change. We’d still be Americans, we’d still go on.”

“But…”

“It’s really nothing more than pack ratting. We have a lot of stuff, that’s all. And if some Islamic radicals destroy it all, so what? It’s just stuff.”

Liberty? Big Ben? The Leaning Tower? The Brooklyn Bridge? Wrigley Field? The Arch? Fine. Call me a pack rat. It’s stuff, frankly, that I don’t want to part with.

“Percentage of Americans who cannot say in which year the September 11 attacks occurred: 30.”

– Harper’s Index, November 2006

Is anyone surprised that the number isn’t higher? I am. Anyway, the Sunday paper showed up and in it was a 44-page voter guide. I’d like to think that I’m not the only subscriber who sat down and read it. I’m still reading it. I’m even reading about the people who are running in other parts of the state and whose names won’t show up on my ballot. My paper ballot.

Yes, there was a tiny blurb in the guide - on page 9 - about the paper ballots. Easy to miss. I’ve already decided that only a handful of voters are aware of the change in legislation and that they’ll be expected to master a new skill on November 7. Hope grief counselors are standing by when voters flip out and claim that the Holocaust was less traumatic than this new ballot.

At any rate, we met up with a few friends Friday night and voting came up in our conversation. One person questioned the method in which people go to the polls and split their vote. For example, they vote for a Republican president and Democratic candidates for Congress. Or vice versa.

Another person is struggling because he’s a staunch Democrat who’s having trouble voting for at least two people on the ballot he knows are incompetent. He really wants to vote for the Republican candidates he knows are better qualified, but when his party is so close to taking the House and Senate, how can he afford to vote for the GOP?

Another has it all figured out. You simply vote against every incumbent. Hmmm. Now, I know people who do that and I know others who specifically vote for the incumbents. I asked him for his reasoning.

“It’s like your job. People get hired, they’re new, and they have all sorts of energy to do the job.”

“Idealism.”

“Exactly. They’re idealistic. They’re not cynical. They haven’t been ruined by the system. They aren’t burned out or corrupt. New blood is good.”

“Inexperience, you mean.”

“No, new blood. You gotta get rid of the dead wood and get new people in there.”

“So, that’s your strategy? You’re definitely going to vote that way?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I never vote.”