The Voice of Treason

When I moved here twelve years ago I anticipated the state would soon turn into California - the state I fled. What it is, actually, is a peculiar combination of the more “golden” aspects of the Golden State and the sootiness of the Third World. Like the state I live in, my feelings about our governor joining the pack of candidates running for the presidency are mixed. Should I be hoping he wins to get him out of here? Should I be happy that we will now be recognized as part of the union? I can’t really say. If Bill Richardson has a shot at this, unflattering stories about Nuevo Mexico are sure to surface. You know how stuff like that floats to the top. It’s bad enough to have people outside the state get a glimpse of our dirty laundry, but I’m really not that sure that I want to see it hanging out there, either.

A “for instance.” Two Democrat loons in our state senate plan to introduce a resolution calling upon Congress to initiate impeachment proceedings against Bush and Cheney because, they claim, the President “intentionally misled Congress and the public” on the issue of Iraq.

We have fringe elements in our state that call up our local talk radio station to paint on Governor Bill more colors than on the average piñata. People on the far right think he’s too left; people on the far left think he’s too right. In fact, one leftist chimed in the other day, accusing Richardson of being in cahoots with General Pinochet.

It’s a circus. A fiesta. A freak show. What most people do agree on is that Bill wields a lot of power. He carries a big stick and isn’t afraid to use it. I’m thinking if he’s smart he’ll put that stick to good use and put the kibosh on these two party bedlamites that are trying to steal the limelight from him. And quick - before the rest of the country realizes we’re a state.

“Sen. Hillary Clinton declared this weekend, ‘I’m in to win.’ Anyone who has watched her remarkable trajectory can have no doubt that she’ll do whatever it takes to win the presidency. I wish she felt the same way about the war.

– Liz Cheney, January 23, 2007

Aaaaahhhhhh. It’s no coincidence that we’re seeing more stories about girls beating the stuffing out of one another. Females, whether they like to admit it or not, are fierce, ferocious, venomous, vicious, malevolent, malicious little buggers. And, trust me, I’m being nice.

I’m not saying Liz Cheney is being malevolent here. I like Liz - I like her entire family. And I really like that she’s learned something from her mother. That is to say what the guys would like to say, but are afraid to say.

It’s becoming clear that women, especially the younger ones, will have to be the steel-spined fighters who come out against the Senator from New York. Men, having learned an ugly lesson from Hillary’s former opponent Rick Lazio, will remain tentative about criticizing her. (The only one I know of who doesn’t mince words or fawn over the woman is Dick Morris.)

What if we take her political beliefs, history, personality quirks, frequent shrillness, and shifting positions on the issues out of this for a moment. No one wants to be harsh, but let’s face it - the Senator has some big problems. Bill, for one. I don’t care about their “partnership;” that relationship has competition written all over it. Bill’s the bride, Hillary’s the bridesmaid. He’s useful, sure, but he’s also an impediment. An accident waiting to happen. He upstages her, upsets her, outshines her, outcharms her. The question will always be: Who’s really running the show? Even if it was and will be Hillary, she’ll never be recognized for it. Shared power isn’t really the power she wants.

And, sad but true, it’s just an ugly fact of life. Hillary’s age and her appearance are going to work against her. Again, I’ve never been one to call Hillary unattractive. Truth be told, I find her rather pleasant to look at. Especially when she remembers to wash her hair. But she’s pushing sixty and photos of her in her forties will remind people that she’s getting somewhat long in the tooth and broad in the beam. We women are simply held to a different standard, no matter how far we’ve come - and, frankly, we’re responsible for a lot of that. I hate to say it, but Mee-Mee Pelosi’s several years older and seems to be holding up a little better. (Of course she is. She’s not married to Bill.) Perfectly coiffed, her face and her Armani suits forever creaseless, Mee-Mee’s just more telegenic. Maybe it’s genetics - most Italians age well. Or maybe her plastic surgery’s better than Hillary’s, who knows? Contenders Edwards and “Barama,” too, look a little less harried, less tired, more…perky. Fresher. But the constant comparisons can’t help the Senator who, stuck in Boomerland, embodies all that is wrong and what is - do I dare say it? - so tedious about the Boomers. And I gotta tell ya - Bill’s not looking too vibrant lately, either. The shine is off his El Camino, so to speak.

Hillary isn’t really a novelty, either. She’s not the first woman to seek the presidency, although I doubt many people realize that. But remember when George Bush was criticized in 2000 for revealing he’d never been out of the country? Other candidates, therefore, might have an edge. The immigrant, international, ethnic, exotic kind of edge. “Barama” (not the first black candidate) has a Kenyan father and spent a portion of his childhood in Jakarta. Again, it sounds like a movie — the drama of Barama. Bill Richardson, whose parents were both born outside the U.S., is possibly the first New Mexican candidate (although he was born in Pasadena and raised in Boston). Although he may “feel” like the guy next door, he’s exotic, too, having spent a chunk of his youth in Mexico (not in a makeshift hut, mind you, but in a 10,000 square foot hacienda with servants), majored in French, and visited countries that the average American has never heard of. And some people might assume that because women were tossed a big bone already - Mee-Mee’s speakership - electing a woman would be unfair to these other groups that might be more “deserving.”

Yes, she has the money and a pack of trained political wolves on her side, but I’m not sure anyone is actually for Hillary. Sure, there are those who will support her because they want to vote for a woman. And there are those who will vote for her because they want to vote for Bill. But will those who vote for her outnumber those who will vote against her? Because it’s another fact of life, and I might be in the minority on this one, but I’m a woman who - regardless of the name on the ballot - will be in the booth voting against Bill.

In the grand scheme of things, this story might be judged unimportant. After all, what with the impending State of the Union address, the war, the rise of radicalism and socialism in the world, the destruction of democracy in Lebanon, the indictment of an Israeli president, the absurd abuse of our judicial system (think Scooter Libby), our infatuation with all that is silly and obscene, our apathy and idiocy, the inability of newscasters to master the pronunciation of words and names common in today’s world — which leaves one with the impression that they, too, are not only uninformed, but idiotic and apathetic, too — why would a story about giant rabbits be something to consider?

Maybe it’s because we are not so very different from rabbits. But these bunnies are special because they’re bred to be the size of dogs and then eaten. North Korea has recently contracted with a German rabbit breeder to help solve its current hunger problem. The good news is that rabbits the size of dogs might give Korean dogs a break. The bad news is that these humongous hoppers take quite a bit of care to raise. As the breeder explains, they require a lot of water, a lot of food, and lots and lots of love…before they’re killed, skinned, slaughtered, cooked, and eaten.

I admit, when I think of eating rabbits I think of that Roman Polanski movie - the one that has Catherine Deneuve trapped in an apartment with a desiccated rabbit in the fridge. These bunnies, which can feed as many as eight starving North Koreans, are the size of the fridge. Or, at least, the size of Polanski. The irony is that most North Koreans subsist - those that do, anyway - on dirt. These rabbits need grain and vegetables and, to grow to full size and be consumed, they must be fed a lot of each. In effect, these rabbits will be eating better than most North Koreans. If there isn’t food for the people - where will the food for the rabbits come from?

I caught a little bit of Rush yesterday and he was talking about Spring Awakening, the “new” musical based on the “old” Wedekind play. By old, I mean that the play first appeared in 1891; by new, I mean that it’s currently on Broadway and has a warning label on it for “explicit” lyrics.

For some reason I remember the production as Spring’s Awakening, but I’m old and memory sometimes fails. Why I remember it at all is because it was one of the first college theater productions I was involved with. I think the first was Becket - I was part of the stage crew on that one. I was trying to remember what I was doing for the Wedekind play and then it hit me. I was assisting its director.

He was one of those “lightning rod” personalities that people often talk about. Either you loved him or hated him - either way, you couldn’t avoid him. He was generally obnoxious and abrasive, usually insulting, but always brilliant. I took several classes with him, and he, his MGB-GT, and his girlfriend’s blue-eyed-blond toddler all were featured in my college film project. He directed my first one-act play, and held the script of my second hostage. I know I never got it back and I doubt he still has it. A dynamic presence, never shy about saying precisely what he meant, and never thinking twice about how the delivery of his message might affect the recipient. He was the type of person who would tell you that you had lipstick on your teeth. And that was one of the more pleasant things you could expect from him. When he directed my play, one of the actresses cracked under the pressure of working with him and had to be replaced. He told me that I had to do it. I gave it a shot, but I finally had to tell him that, as the writer, my role was to sit in the audience every night and cringe - not be onstage making everyone else in the house cringe. I was, therefore, released from that obligation.

Why I remember the Wedekind play is this: I thought it was an awful show. No one had heard of it, but he was passionate about the script and had always wanted to stage it. No one shared his enthusiasm. But, at the time, this was edgy, in-your-face stuff. During one rehearsal, I was doing what I usually did. I took notes - lots of notes. At one point he came over to me, said something, and I just went rigid. For a moment I questioned myself: Did I hear what he just said? I did, so I wrote it down to be shared with the cast after the rehearsal.

It was about one of the actresses. She was another larger than life personality, with crazy blonde ringlets and a wild sense of humor. We worked in the same shows and had several classes together; she was older than a lot of the other students and I remember her plan to move to Nawlins with her girlfriend to open a used clothing store.

She was wearing a short, silky, toga-like dress for the production. Her build was masculine, stocky, athletic - not waif-like. Our director wanted her to do cartwheels onstage. She did. And that’s when I was told to make the note.

“Needs to do something about pubic hair.”

It was an interesting moment. The cast and crew gathered to hear his remarks and no matter what their age or experience, it was apparent that the primary response was shock. The actress simply had too much pubic hair for a pubescent. It would have to be removed before opening night.

That’s entertainment.

Over a quarter of a century has passed, but I can’t help think all who were involved in that production were reminded of the pubic hair episode when they heard the show was on Broadway. That director certainly made his mark - on all of us and for different reasons. For me, he was particularly influential; however, it was his influence that led me to one of the dumbest decisions of my life. Only a handful of people knew about it and I doubt that any who are alive today even remember it, but it haunts me still.

No doubt I’ll explain it here one day.

The first thing I can remember writing was a little thing I put together back when I was in kindergarten. I have some vague memory of it appearing in our school newspaper. As I recall, it was a poem about spring. A very brief, haiku-like ode to the season. I think I mentioned things like buds on trees…and robins. I summarized the entire season in one word: nice.

I’d been inspired by a walk through the neighborhood, around Joyce Kilmer Elementary, led by our teacher. Do schoolkids still do that? Take those little nature walks, look at the world around them, see the subtle changes?

When the dog and I went out in the yard this morning there was a thick layer of snow on the ground. The air was crisp, the wind chill in the low teens. There were no birds on the feeders, but the chitalpa was full of them. All sorts - even a goldfinch. Then I saw it. A large robin. Two large robins. Whoa. Three large robins. They were just lined up, staring at me.

I went inside, made a pot of coffee, and sat down at the computer. I heard T stirring behind me. “I can’t believe all the flickers out there. I think I counted nine.”

I told him that I’d seen robins. “It seems early for them, doesn’t it? I mean, I’m used to seeing one - maybe two - but it’s odd to see three of them together at the same time.”

Long ago I’d written here about how a pair of nesting robins delayed the removal of our half dead pear tree. They came back a year later looking for it, then settled for a tree next door. Were these the same robins?

T and I walked outside and then froze. Our yard was filled with robins. They were in the golden rain tree, the locust, the desert olive, the pinon, the pistache - hell, they were in and on everything.

We backed up slowly and got into the house. I went to the front room and looked out the window. Robins, robins everywhere.

“Okay. That’s weird. It’s like The Day of the Triffids, except it’s robins. What are they doing?”

We watched as more of them appeared under the rose bushes, picking up large pieces of bark and garden debris in their beaks and tossing them in the air. All of a sudden a starling appeared and one of the robins jumped up on the windowsill and stared inside. “Are they looking for bugs? Or are they getting ready to build their nests? Or are they going to break in here and kill us?”

We grabbed the dog’s leash and headed out for a walk. More starlings. Trees full of them. Flickers, finches, vireos, chickadees, robins. They went from house to house, yard to yard. Flocks overhead, overlapping bird sounds, dozens and dozens of robins.

Hours later, the sun was setting, and I heard T calling me. “Look!” We went outside and saw something perched on the neighbor’s balcony. A hawk? A falcon? By the time I’d grabbed my binoculars, it flapped its wings and quickly disappeared.

Nice.

A couple weeks ago, when my mother was transferred to a hospital downtown, the first person to enter her room was a tech who came to evaluate her vital signs. I admit it. I sometimes look at individuals and try to guess their political affiliation. Since childhood, I’ve played the game of guessing which side a person on TV is on based solely on appearance. Then I listen to what they say and see if my guess is accurate. I had guessed that this tech, based only on her appearance, leaned left.

I’d switched on the television for my mother and tuned into FNC. A few minutes passed and she asked: “Is that Hillary?” I held my breath. Was she going to say something politically incorrect in front of this person who was going to be responsible for her care?

Instead, the tech made an odd animal sound - something between a horse and a pig - and said: “Lady Hillary. It’s her, all right. Sometimes I just can’t believe how incredibly stupid people can be. Don’t they remember Whitewater?”

Whoa. Where’d that come from? I began to test the waters and engaged her in conversation. I learned that she was fifty-six years old and was trying to get out of the medical field - she warned me to avoid it - and intended to finally finish that degree and get into a new line of work.

“My plan is to move to Japan and teach English to the natives.”

I can’t help it. When I think of Japan, I think of Tokyo; and when I think of Tokyo, I think of Blade Runner. “I worked for a Japanese company for several years. You really want to live in Japan?”

“To get away from Bush and his cronies? Definitely.”

And then she walked out of the room. She hates Bush enough to leave the country? To me it seemed like a drastic move, considering our current president would probably be out of office and replaced by a Democrat before this tech had even come close to completing that degree and packing her things. Unless it’s the prospect of Hillary that’s making her fly the coop. Ugh. It’s all getting so confusing.

There’s another game I play. I close my eyes and listen to what people on TV say, guess their political affiliation, then open my eyes and see if I’m right. Lately this game is becoming a little more of a challenge.

Here’s an example:

“We should probably name it the committee on world travel and junkets. We’re just empowering a bunch of enthusiastic amateurs to go around and make speeches and make commitments that will be very difficult to honor. They’re going to get under the feet of and interfere with those who are trying to do a decent job of legislating. I’m unaware of anything they will do that will be of any value.”

That sounds like a Republican scoffing at Mee-Mee Pelosi’s plan to assemble a new committee to “solve” global warming. Actually, the words belong to John Dingell, a Democrat. More and more, the lines are blurring and Republicans are sounding like Democrats, and Democrats are sounding like Republicans.

Strange, but the liberals I know haven’t been quick to align themselves with Democrats, even though they appear to be the party in power. I hear the words “independent” and “progressive” from them, and I’m not hearing much of anything from Republicans - whatever they’re calling themselves these days.

When I saw my sister a couple weeks ago she mentioned how annoying the last election was because her phone never stopped ringing. “Every time I picked it up it was the Republican Party asking me to send them money. Finally I had to tell them that I wasn’t sending them any because I’m not a Republican. I’m a Libertarian!”

Yikes. If she’s a Libertarian, what does that make me?

“The government is not going to take care of us. We have to take care of ourselves.”

Which presidential candidate for 2008, promoting a culture of personal responsibility, said that? Give up? I admit, the question is unfair, because the speaker isn’t an ‘08 candidate. It’s actually Harvey Fierstein. And he said this almost three years ago, at a town hall meeting in New York City, as moderator on a panel that focused on the rising number of HIV infections among local gay men.

I was watching LOGO today when I saw Harvey speaking on the “culture of disease” that permeates the gay community. He spoke at length and much of what he said was pretty ballsy. I couldn’t help think that if a Republican in Congress delivered the same message he or she would have been branded a homophobe or a Nazi. Or both. So I went online and found excerpts of the piece in various edited forms, depending on the source. I’ve tried to piece them together here, but cannot guarantee that the ideas are in the same sequence presented by Fierstein. Anyway, here’s a good chunk of what he said:

“There are too many positive gay role models. In fighting the AIDS crisis over the last 20 years, we have done everything possible to dispel the negative connotations that come with having HIV…we produced advertising, created enlightenment programs, spent endless hours making certain that having AIDS or being HIV positive was nothing to be ashamed of. We did a great job. Maybe too great a job. After all the effort exerted to convince the world that AIDS is not a gay disease, we now have a generation embracing AIDS as its gay birthright…

According to figures just released by the Centers for Disease Control, the number of new AIDS cases rose last year for the first time in a decade. Four Americans now become infected with the disease every hour. Many of our young men see infection as a right of passage, an inevitable coming of age. I hear of them seeking the disease as entree into the cool, queer inner circle that being negative denies them…

…In our effort to remove the stigma of having AIDS, have we created a culture of disease? We all see the ads for HIV drugs. They illustrate hot muscular men living life to the fullest thanks to modern science…

…We have done a terrific job removing the stigma of having AIDS. But in doing so we’ve failed to eliminate the disease. HIV is an almost completely avoidable infection. You need to be compliant in some very specific behaviors to be at risk. In fact, if every person now infected vowed that the disease ended with him, we could wipe out the ballooning number of new infections…

…Instead, we’ve sold our next generation into drug slavery and their destiny to medical researchers because we’d rather treat each other as sexual objects than as family…We have created an industry of disease that would crumble if AIDS was cured in our community…

…I am calling for us to take back our lives and culture and to stop spreading the virus. I am calling for us to resist the normalization of disease and once again embrace health. I’m calling for an end to the false advertising for drugs and for us to stop minimizing the infection with cute little names like ‘the gift’ or ‘the bug.’ I want to see an ad campaign showing a sexy man saying: I don’t have HIV. I don’t want to waste my life and resources on drugs. I am taking charge of my body, my health and my destiny. I am a negative gay role model.”

I appreciate the message. I appreciate Fierstein for taking this position. I appreciate LOGO for presenting it. The problem, however, is that the words come from a New York Times op-ed piece that Fierstein wrote back in the summer of 2003. Count the years.

There’s a battle over funding for a variety of diseases and each group wants more attention paid to its cause. Michael J. Fox wants the focus to be on Parkinson’s. In the past few years I’ve had several peers diagnosed with diabetes and multiple sclerosis, and I’m currently watching my mother’s struggle with Alzheimer’s. AIDS is horrible, yes, but the disease has captured perhaps an unfair amount of attention and resources. And I refuse to feel guilty for resenting the facts.

Boomers, I’m sure, can feel very good about all the billions of dollars that have gone into AIDS research. But I remember jokes not so very long ago about Charlton Heston and Ronald Reagan and their battles with a disease that’s just as horrific as AIDS. Yet the differences are clear. One of the diseases is a result of behavior. One isn’t.

To be fair, perhaps I’m wrong. Maybe behavior is a factor in the development of Alzheimer’s. There are studies that suggest certain behaviors can trigger dementia. And who knows — maybe, like AIDS, it can be prevented. Yet that remains a mystery. Chances are we won’t know the answer any time soon since the bulk of research dollars is being directed towards a disease that we, for the most part, have already figured out.

I’m starting this new year, down to one single solitary magazine subscription. Sure, there are those publications that still appear in my mailbox from various organizations and associations, marketing companies, and auto insurance groups. I don’t really count those as magazine subscriptions because they’re more in the category of junk mail. Now, I had been receiving issues of Real Simple, each one telling me how to pare down and simplify my life. I finally took their advice and chose not to renew my subscription. It was simple. I just didn’t respond to their weekly reminders that I needed to renew.

I am down to one publication of choice now, and that one publication is, of course, National Review. When I was four, I decided I wouldn’t have children. I’ve stood by that decision. When I was eight, I decided that The Lion In Winter was the film I would take with me if I were stranded on an island with only one film to watch again and again for the rest of my life. I’ve seen thousands of movies and I have a long list of favorites, but this one is still my choice for the number one spot. Similarly, magazines of all types have come and gone, but the one I consistently renew is National Review. Hmm. That rhymes.

Ironically, my reward for loyalty came with the new issue. On page 12, there is an announcement that Florence King will have a new column in every other issue of the magazine and it will be called “The Bent Pin.” In this particular issue it appears on page 41.

Here, in an article “Grosser and Grosser,” King writes “…the gross-out vocabulary, infantile by definition, was bound to find favor with Americans. ‘Poo’ is turning up more and more on television…Check out the mischievous little smirks, particularly on the svelte, sophisticated anchorettes, and you will see arrested development in all its puerile glory.”

Interesting that she should say this, because I watched an episode of Scrubs on NBC last night. I’ve never watched the series in my life, but when I saw the preview of a musical version of the show, I had to stay tuned. It’s hard to explain, but it has something to do with my love/hate relationship with musical theatre. Brought to us by the creative minds behind Avenue Q, each song was inspired by a different Broadway show and production style. It was actually entertaining. Cute even. And there was a whole number about stool samples: “Everything Comes Down to Poo.” Yes, excrement as entertainment.

I have to admit, there is something strange about our national fixation on gross bodily functions, and it says a lot about our culture. Here we are, spoiled, behaving like children, looking for our parents in government. We want it now, we want it to be easy. We demand nurturing, protection, and someone who will make all our decisions for us. And we really enjoy being naughty and getting by with saying all those taboo words that we said when we were four.

We’re just so enamored of all the ookie things our bodies can produce. It’s certainly odd. Boomers really should take a moment to realize that they are, despite their attempts to slow down the ravages of time, soon approaching a period in their lives in which “poo” isn’t going to be something to giggle about. Changing an infant’s diaper is one thing; changing your parent’s is something else entirely. And having yours changed…well, just trust me on this: poo’s really not much of a form of entertainment, after all.

I’m reminded of the time T and I went to Candlestick Park to watch the Cubs and Giants and we had seats close to where Barry Bonds was playing. T, I must say, is generally a mature individual who conducts himself accordingly. But he is also - or should I say was - a fan of the Pittsburgh Pirates and has little or no respect for Barry Bonds. So he did something I found a little surprising. He taunted Bonds throughout the game. All he did was say the name “Barry” in a weird sort of whiny voice, over and over again, just loud enough for Bonds to hear it. I was embarrassed at first and told him to knock it off. But once I saw how the chanting of his name was so annoying to Bonds, I just had to sit back and watch.

“Baaaaaaaiiiiiirrrrr-reeeeeeeeeee.”

So when I heard that Barack Obama used to be Barry Obama, I had to giggle. Even though he’s written two books about himself, it seems that very little is known about the person who could become the next president of the United States. He went to a Catholic school…he went to a Muslim school…he was educated in a madrassa!…his middle name is Hussein!…oh, God, he smokes!!! And he’s very sensitive about those ears.

There are whispers now about the “manufacturing” of this candidate. People are backing away from saying it’s “Manchurian,” but they are wondering how someone could just appear and be elected president. It’s like those “overnight sensations” who admit, quite rightly, that their “overnight” took about twenty years. In this case, that doesn’t appear to be true.

I’ve been typing Barack Obama’s name for some time and I’ve mentioned the fact that some people pronounce it “Barrack,” and for some it’s “Bah-rock.” I’ve noticed different spellings, too, lately. Like “Barak.” Whenever I type it, I find myself spelling out the word “Barama.” I’ve been catching and correcting myself for weeks. But then I typed “Barama” yesterday and let it stand. It just felt right.

In a culture that identifies its celebrities by one name - Oprah, Cher, Madonna, JLo - and even morphs two individuals into one - Bennifer, Brangelina - why not label our presidential candidates with catchy nicknames, too? Remember “I like Ike?”

“Algore.” There’s one. “Barama.” The drama of Barama. You say “Hillary” and no one thinks you’re talking about the actress or the mountaineer. John Edwards could be “Jed.” Why, there’s even a whole website that celebrates that name and lists other Jeds. It’s a smart move. Look how the name “Clinton” worked for Bill. It’s a name so common in American history and geography. Think of all the streets, towns, and counties with that name. So familiar, it must be a good thing.

Pelosi has one, too. “Mee-Mee.” Chris Dodd could be “Cod.” Sounds like both the Supreme Being and the fish. Hmm, but maybe too much like the Cape, too. Tsk. Wrong state. Kucinich could be “The Kuc,” but then someone might misread that as “The Kook.”

As for the other side, there could be nicknames for the top contenders there, too. Like Giuliani, for instance. How ’bout Rudy? With Romney, how ’bout Mitt? Gingrich? Newt. Bush? Jeb. Rice? Condi. Okay, something’s not quite working here. But I’m definitely sticking with “Barama.” Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?

“…When we first met in this chamber 4 years ago—it was with the hope of a new beginning for New Mexico. Boldly believing that we could revitalize our state by expanding opportunity. To make our state a place —

– Nuevo Mexico’s Governor Bill Richardson, 2007 State of the State Address

Bill Richardson is perfect for New Mexico. Now, that may or may not be a compliment - to either the governor or the state. But I’ll let the statement stand and you can interpret it any way you wish.

The question on everyone’s minds is: Is Bill running? If one just glances at the top Democratic contenders for 2008 - Clinton, Barama, and Edwards - the answer is yes. Yes, Bill should throw his hat - or in this case, sombrero - into the ring. He represents a large and quickly growing segment of the American population. The immigration issue doesn’t just affect the Southwest; a candidate from a state that few Americans recognize as part of our union would be fascinating. Think of the marketing possibilities.

No one actually thinks Bill has a prayer. I think a few people even said that about another Bill who ran for office not so long ago. Frankly, there’s no reason to believe, as so many others do, that the Dems will throw Bill a bone and he’ll be the new Secretary of State in a Democrat administration. There’s quite a bit of meat on a bone like that, but it’s unwise and perhaps unfair to assume that Bill can’t be considered for the top job.

I’m trying to think of politicians who ran for president and represented states I lived in at the time of their race. Reagan? Jerry Brown? Yikes, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I’m thinking I’m due for someone to represent my state in 2008. I was hoping for Gary Johnson, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. Or maybe it will. All I know is that it’s going to be pretty interesting to watch.