Politics: Obama, Lieberman, Cindy McCain, American Pie, and Joni Mitchell

Hmmph. It seems that it’s been a while since I directly wrote about politics.

Obama
I bought Obama’s The Audacity of Hope a few weeks back. While I will admit Barack is a decent writer, I found it, overall, pretty boring. If you’re into policy, congressional history, mixed in with a little autobiography, you’ll like it. Otherwise, skip it or read the excerpts on the net.

I left the book thinking, despite his grandiose ideals (that I just happen to share), he’s not such a great husband or father. He’s got that only child, my-job-is-so-important-that-it-compromises-my-family-life vibe going. Then again, these are likely GOOD qualities for a leader of the “most powerful” country in the free world. Like any great writer, artist, or leader, I guess something has to give. In this case, we get an inspiring leader, while his kids and wife get a part-time father and husband.

I’m not buying 100% into his rhetoric, yet can’t help but appreciate the words and ways of thinking. Sadly, I kind of feel like he already sold out. The title of this book was inspired by a 1990 sermon from Jermiah Wright (a piece written in reflection of George Frederic Watts painting, “Hope”), the man he dropped like a hot potato following the now infamous Wright sermons on AIDS, 9/11, and White America.

The audacity of hope.

That was the best of the American Spirit, I thought–having the audacity to believe despite all the evidence to the contrary that we could restore a sense of community to a nation torn by conflict; the gall to believe that despite personal setbacks, the loss of a job or an illness in the family or a childhood mired in poverty, we had some control—and therefore responsibility–over our own fate.

It was this audacity, I thought, that joined us as one people. It was that pervasive spirit of hope that tied my own family’s story to the larger American story.

Lieberman
What’s the deal with his choice to speak at the Republican National Convention? Is he really this desperate for attention or is he merely “socking it to” the Dems for screwing his previous election? Either way, I tend to believe that his presence doesn’t make him look like some rebel, but more like an A-hole.

Cindy McCain
I never liked this woman. There. I said it. After this was covered on NPR the other day, I found yet another reason to strongly dislike her. Now, I know First Ladies aren’t exactly running for president, but the person you chose as your running mate in life certainly has a reflection on YOU. I never inherently hated McCain, but his wife, on the other hand, is quite a piece of work.

Just Me
I really hope the next 4 years will bring better times than the last 8. Not that I blame GW or 9/11 for all of my life’s tribulations, but this certainly hasn’t been a great time to come into adulthood.

I randomly heard “American Pie” on the radio the other night. The last time I heard that tune was the night GW was elected for the second time. I remember being on the 290 in my beat up mercury tracer station wagon and gulping back tears at the irony of the timing. I know I’ll never again be that wide-eyed 23 year old, coming to a new town with high hopes and aspirations. It’d be nice to come in from the cold.

We really thought we had a purpose
We were so anxious to achieve
We had hope
The world held promise
For a slave to liberty
Freely I slaved away for something better
And I was bought and sold
And all I ever wanted
Was to come in from the cold

Handle Me With Care

I started writing a blog entry last night.  Here’s what it was…

Titled, “Strange Night”…I just strokjlled in at 3:30, which is totaaslly out of the ordinasry. As I sit here, sucsking on my cigarette, totsally tanked from my “jolly rancher” shot, I’m thinking that it’s probabbly a gopod thing that I don’t make this kind of thing a habit.

I really have no idea what I was trying to write about last night and/or why, at 3:30AM, I suddenly found the night’s events strange. I do know that I woke up spread eagle in my bed, reeking of gin, and my throat feeling like I swallowed a scimitar.

This, kids, is why I’m no longer a bar hopping babe. And frankly, it amazes me that I used to do this on a weekly basis in my 20’s.

I will say that my best friend popping into town unannounced was a great surprise. The second I walked into the bar I was handed a Jack Daniels and ginger ale (my signature drink in college), put into a headlock, and reconfirmed why my friends are my friends.

We have an upcoming Bad Girls Weekend and by the time I consumed one JD, I was insisting that we not only allow my friend’s new husband to attend, but also everyone AT the bar.

A few observations that I can vaguely recall:

• We recalled times when we made fun of “old” drunk people in bars, decided that life is pretty much one big payback, and considered chalking our ID’s. Sadly, no one had a red pencil handy.
• I no longer found it amusing that the bartender was drunk and over pouring my drinks.
• It’s no longer funny or cool to stumble down a public sidewalk yelling, “I LOVE THIS TOWN!
• When the DJ plays “retro” music it might be a sign that you’re old if you actually remember when the song was first released. And an even worse indicator if you can identify the song from the Pretty Woman soundtrack. If the same DJ plays Traveling Wilburrys, don’t glare at the 20 year old next to you when she says, “Why the fuck are the playing all this old people music?”
• My friend’s new husband, now my prototype man, proudly yelled, “Jesus Christ! All these young girls dress like strippers now. Where were they when I was 22?” Then turning to his new wife, “I’m just saying, stripper girls would have been great 10 year ago. Hey! There’s another stripper!”

Increasing Traffic To Your Blog…

Let’s say you just started writing in your little blog. You’d like people to come and commiserate with you, but can’t figure out how to increase views without sounding desperate for attention. So here’s what you do: add Playgirl and/or Naked Men to your tags and voila! You have 40 views in one day and get your blog cross listed on a variety of porn sites! Yippeee!

Coffee Companion

I need to preface this with a few background tidbits. I’ve emailed with Mr. Coffee Companion for months on an online dating site. Initially, I wasn’t interested and really wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He mentioned working out in his profile and I try my damnedest not to date men who are in better shape than I am. We emailed consistently about every topic under the sun from dating to death. And for months (and I mean MONTHS), I was totally content with my little email buddy.

This past June I suddenly found myself emailing with several men. Everyday. And as summer quickly approached and my email relationships were starting to take up more time than my actual dating life, I decided it was time to take the bull by the horns. I emailed Mr. Coffee Companion first and basically said, as much as I love this back and forth email thing, it’s not really getting me what I’m looking for. I then typed my phone number and said, if you’d like to do something some time, give me a call.

He didn’t call, but emailed, saying that he would miss the emails. I didn’t reply and within a day, actually had a voicemail from a sexy sounding voice. I was shocked and took three days to call him back, not wanting to appear available, since we all know no man likes an available woman. We played voicemail phone tag for a few days. By the time we finally talked on the phone this Thursday, I felt like it was probably going to take another three months for this guy to ask me out. I was wrong and he suggested meeting up for coffee, since we were both going to be in the same neighborhood. I figured what the hell.

I could be totally off the mark, but I think I just had a decent first date. Not that coffee is a date, but let’s pretend it is. If it is, in fact, a date, then I would be a little pissed that my “date” didn’t pay for my $5 coffee. But coffee isn’t a date. It’s just coffee. And since it was just coffee, the lack of chivalry didn’t offend me. And in all honesty, I’ve never been a huge advocate for chivalry, since I’ve dated plenty of men who regard themselves as chivalrous, then turn out to be complete a-holes.

After sitting on a Starbucks patio for nearly two hours, I mentioned that I really needed to get something to eat. We had met up after he worked a 10 hour shift and I had a night class. He wasn’t hungry (I’m going to go ahead and assume that he’s either not interested and/or cheap, since I can’t really think of any other reason not to eat something after sitting for two hours…).

He created another half hour of chitchat, which kind of confused me, causing me to think, “Okay? No dinner, but you still want to sit here talking?” Eventually, he awkwardly walked me back to my car. Prior to my December dating debacle, where I took the lead, I would have easily given someone a hug as a greeting and/or parting gift. This time I decided no go. If someone’s interested, they’re going to have to put it out there loud and clear.

He stood there, shifting his weight from left foot to right and mumbling something about his weekend. Between his mumbling and my 20% hearing loss from blasting my headphones through 4 years of high school, I really have no idea how the date ended. For all I know he asked me to marry him at Italian Fest this weekend.

Now, the good part:

• He’s tall (I’m tall and always seem to end up in committed relationships with short guys with Napoleon complexes),
• bald (I like no hair. It’s much better than bad hair),
• nice smile,
• sexy ass,
• nice cute little lips that’s caused me to stop a few times and ponder his kissing (and other) skills. This thought process, in my idiosyncratic mind, lead me to confirming that our offspring would have a 100% chance of having a big nose, which would kind of suck for the kids. The compensation would likely come in the brains department, since he appeared to be intelligent and on occasion, I have access to a few brain cells),
• seemed humored by my goofy comments and was quick to offer his own (and blushed every time I laughed at his jokes…God, I love shy men),
• likes not being a workaholic, citing that “quality of life is more important than money” (Bing, Bing, Bing! Good Answer, Mr. Coffee Companion.),
• and at one point, when discussing the dentist, Mr. Coffee Companion complimented my smile.

I really don’t care if he calls for another date (of course I care, but let’s pretend I don’t, since rejection of any kind generally sucks), but am eternally grateful that I now have enough fodder for a few nights of sex dreams.

This one’s for you, Mr. Coffee Companion. I hope you ask me out again. If not, I’ll see you in my Karma Sutra fantasies.

Naked Men

When I was a freshman in college I knew two girls from Long Island. The rest of us kind of thought they were a little rough around the edges and took to calling them “The Guidos.” The Guidos didn’t really like this at first and threatened to kick our asses a few times before we convinced them that it was a compliment.

We, of course, inevitably became part of their little posse. They made up a fake sorority (I think it was Sigma Delta Guido), which we had to (fake) pledge to be part of. One of the dares was to walk to the news stand downtown and purchase a copy of Play Girl.  I, being the chickenshit smartass, took on the dare, then proceeded in paying another (non-pledging) friend to go get it.

For the next week we posted naked men on our dorm room doors with DIY thought bubbles.

Good times.