Voting Day

On the day that North Carolina did the Right Thing, I arose only slightly earlier than usual. I had intended to get up early enough to make it to the polling place just as it opened; but I missed that by a good hour -- and I had a good half-hour walk to get there.
I loaded my canvas Unshelved shoulder bag with water, an apple, Deighton's London Match to read while waiting in line (record anger and disgust-fueled voter turn-out expected!), Stones and My Morning Jacket to entertain me on the walk. Setting off down the Greenway, I was greatly appreciative of the loveliness of the morning in spite of the pollen count. Tree pollen has a way of making one feel as though he has ventured out of the ship without his space helmet. Other than that, the day was filled with promise.
There is something . . . bracing . . . spiritual . . . quaint, maybe even patriotic, and certainly reflectively meditative, about walking down a tree-lined path next to a wonderfully photogenic creek to get to your voting place.
O America!
Yeah. I was on my way to exercise my God-given right to actually participate in the governing process of this great nation. It didn't even matter that my vote is usually cancelled out by my mother-in-law's vote: it's the principle of the thing, you know. Who knows . . . perhaps the outrage engendered by the last eight years will work towards having my vote actually counted this time. Maybe the person who gets the most votes will win! What a dizzying prospect.
My voting place is a Christian school. It's bigger than some colleges I have known. The Lamb, it is well known, prospers in Charlotte. Making my way through acres of parked late-model SUVs, idly counting the many fish symbols displayed there, it occurred to me that the line was going to be quite long indeed -- and most likely very Republican.
I was wrong about that. I don't know where all those SUV owners were. Classes were cancelled for Election Day, and though the poll workers vastly outnumbered the voters present at the time; there were barely a dozen people in the polling place.
The sweet little old lady registrar ran her index finger down the list several times.
"Uh-oh."
"Excuse me?"
"There seems to be a problem . . ."
She looked around anxiously for some sort of assistance from someone real, imagined, or from on high. Here we go, I seethed to myself. It's really happening. They know I'm a Democrat. They're out to get me. Everything I read and heard is the ghastly, evil truth . . .
"Oh, there it is!"
It didn't take long, was very simple (yes, an idiot could do it), and you could see the paper ballot being generated by your button choices. But I was wary. I checked everything twice.
Later -- much later -- I watched Ma Clinton celebrating her apparent two-point Indiana triumph as though she had been vindicated once and for all -- and found myself once again fantasizing about Chelsea.
Here and there bits and pieces seen through political-junkie hangover haze on America's morning "news" dump: Reverend Wright, Hillary's need to pull this thing out and heal the Democratic party, Reverend Wright, race isn't an issue, Reverend Wright, Bill worked his heart out, Reverend Wright, race is an issue, race, Wright, white, Thank God for McCain who is serious, honorable and white . . .
And so it goes.

The Supreme Court does it again

Well, it won't be the first time this group of withered old reactionary farts interfered with the election of a US president. They've now awarded Assholio Gonzales his ultimate victory, scoring a major hit on fictional "voter fraud" (it's time to redefine that term -- if this "decision" isn't real voter fraud, I don't know what is).
So, who's it gonna hurt? Who's it supposed to hurt?
Between that and the vote-counting process, looks like they've got another one in the bag. How long, dear God, how long?

A couple of things

Many of us would do very well to -- and, indeed, benefit from -- taking a more detailed look into the Reverend Wright issue. There is a lot of information out here on the 'Net. Don't be content with the msm version: you should be getting wise to them by now. Don't forget that they're happily in bed with a drooling warmonger!
And for God's sake, don't go by Hillary's people, either.
There are indications that it ain't, of course, all it's cracked up to be. I was just reading, for example, one account of the good Reverend by a white member of his mostly-black congregation. This man is much impressed with the Rev and lists a number of civic programs the Rev has instituted that have worked far better than any comparable government program could have.
But more touching is how this white man's life was affected by the Rev. "Between engagement ring and altar," he says, his black bride-to-be suddenly decided that there was simply no way that she could marry a white man. It would be a betrayal of her race.
Fortunately, she was a member of Wright's flock. When he learned of her change of heart, he called her in for a conference in which he highlighted the folly of racial isolationism.
And he presided at the ceremony.
As for putting the blame for 9/11 at America's doorstep . . . well, I got in trouble for that myself, and I'm a true patriot. Telling the truth in George W. Bush's America can get you in trouble.
There is very wise corroboration to the charge that America brought 9/11 upon itself. Read Chalmers Johnson's Blow-Back Trilogy. There is even more proof available, but that excellent work of non-fiction is more than enough.

Speaking of 9/11, I am painfully aware of the bad rep suffered by Truthers and conspiracy nuts; so I have approached that area with great caution. Even so, I have felt the blast-furnace heat of believer revulsion. That can hurt.
Nevertheless, it needs to be said that the contradictions, the miraculous coincidences, the historic firsts and the ever-changing scenarios all point in a certain direction, and that is not towards the truth. You don't have to be a conspiracy nut to know this.

Memories

I remember that day when Robert Byrd of West Virginia took the Senate floor and begged his colleagues and our idiot-boy President to reconsider the brash and ill-conceived rush to war in Iraq. That speech nearly brought tears to my eyes.
Tears of despair.
Tears of rage.
And tears of frustration and disbelief.
I had experienced the disbelief and frustration for many a year -- from the unbelievable spectacle of a b-movie cowboy as President to the present shabby and criminal climax of George W. Bush, his minions, his rancid propaganda machine: the permanent stain he, his father and that imbecilic two-bit actor have left upon this country.
As the images of Shock and Awe glowed that weird green on my TV screen, I mourned the death of America.
From that day until this, to quote Dylan:
If my thought dreams could be seen,
They'd put my head in a guillotine.

4000 dead is part of the price -- a big part; and yet only a part.

I'm getting old. I hope I may live, however, long enough to see justice done. That will be small enough comfort . . .

Happy Birthday, Iraqi Freedom

We got your joyous occasion

Right here, George.

My God, we owe it all to you,

George!

Rivers of blood on a sunny

Afternoon,

Covered up corruption,

Conveniently concealed coffins

By the thousand;

All of it costing at least

An arm and a leg.

But who cares,

George!

It's literally

Raining

Arms and legs!

Thanks to you.

Even more not news

If the choir will resume their seats -- quietly, please -- I will begin the sermon.

Now that things are going better in Iraq . . .
Excuse me?
Let me finish, then you can follow up.
. . . we can turn our attention to the economy. We need to do that.

What part of the war being an integral part of the economy is it that you don't understand?
Oh, and you might want to check with an Iraqi or two about how much better things are going in Iraq.

Not News

A study in national priorities:

Estimated cost of the 9/11 investigation: $14,000,000
(Originally budgetted: $3,000,000)

Estimated cost of the Monica Lewinsky investigation: $41.000,000