January 5, 2012
No one gives a shit
Absolutely no one gives a shit that Obama made sort-of-recess appointments. Absolutely no one. People who are into politics have this incredibly distorted mindset that the majority of the universe cares about politics as much as they do. They don't. At all.
This is, of course, why right-wingers are apoplectic this morning--because they know that no one cares about this. Romney can whine about it for a talking point, but at the end of it, he's whining that Obama put someone in charge of departments that stop rich people from screwing poor people over. Good luck with that buddy.
January 3, 2012
It. Is. On.
Oh, Iowa. This glorious day, this wonderful time, your moment to shine. It has come again.
Iowa! When just once each four years, we can find you on a map. Iowa! When once every four years, we know more about you than agriculture. Iowa! When every fourteen hundred days or so we all pretend you are the zeitgeist of America because you angrily legislate dominance over an entire election cycle out of selfish self-preservation of artificially lowered corn syrup prices, because that is the democracy the Founding Fathers ordered poor people to die for.
Iowa. Because that movie with the guy and the baseball players and Darth Vader guy.
Iowa? Yes, Iowa. Smug-faced urbanites vacationing in your quaint Holiday Inns, seeking your cow-laden backdrops, pretending that until this very moment they have never heard of nor seen this strange, perhaps religious, ceremony the natives call a "fair." They come with squires who carry strange boxes that they talk to, lest the boxes be angry and make their eternal youth go away, or in the worst cases make them talk about weather instead.
Iowa, as your golden complete lack of shores welcomes huddled masses yearing to break free of suit jackets. Rolled up sleeves and a loose tie, your official uniform of the sport known as "meeting the people!"
Iowa! Where in the last two weeks your entire statewide population of people with the last name Weigel has increased 100 percent.
I. Oh. Wah. When this morning a young child of a mere 63 years of age, who never truly grapsed that his fate, his legacy was determined before he was born merely by the act of his parents bestowing him the tribal god-helm uttered as "Wolf" by the tongues of the man-walkers, leaps from his bed to run downstairs and see what the harvest festival gods have left him in the night. It is a new monitor. A bigger monitor. Bigger than any that has been given to him before. And it has a touch screen. And holograms!
Iowa: because just once... just once, every four years, the government and the news media need to get together and just admit to our faces that the fate of the whole country rests entirely in the hands of a small group of old, angry, selfish white people.
And then tonight, we will all go to sleep, the wistful name still on our lips, slowly muting itself for another quadrennial rest. We shall dream great; we shall dream warm. We shall float endlessly on clouds that sing the name, Iowa.
Later, Mitt Romney gets the nomination in a walk because no fucking shit, everyone.