Me: Boys, next Tuesday will be a very big election. We get to decide the President of the United States. The two candidates are Barack Obama and John McCain.
Elder son: Bwack Obamer?
Me: And John McCain.
Elder son: John McCain!
Younger son: I need some Bwack Obamers for my house that I is building. I go find dem in the living room!
Elder son: Did you say Bomb Iraqas? [he really said this]
Me: No, Barack Obama. Bomb Iraqas is John McCain.
Elder son: Mommy, is the President the one who runs the Halloween Parade?
Me: He runs the whole country. He is the leader of all the places we have driven--Cape Cod, Lake Placid, Maine. The whole big country of America.
Elder son: Oooh, that's big.
Younger son: I have 18 Bwack Obamers now. I git more!
Me: Do you think you would like to be President one day?
Elder son: I would have to be a lot bigger, Mommy!
[2 minutes pass]
Elder son: I don't like Bwack Obamer. I don't think that he should win.
Me: Why not? You don't know anything about him. You first need to listen to what he believes and his views, and then make a decision. You can go with me and vote.
Elder son: Yes, my teacher said I should do that.
Younger son: Bwack, Bwack, Bwack Obamer! Bwack, Bwack, Bwack Obamer! Bwack, Bwack, Bwack Obamer!
Me: Did you know that Barack Obama is black? Like Ty? [a friend of ours] Well, his mommy is white and his daddy is black so he is half and half.
Elder son: Oh! Well! If he is black then okay! I like him fine!
Democracy in action.
Showing posts with label barack obama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label barack obama. Show all posts
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
McCain's Pet Gnome
Okay, you are 72 years old and your possible/presumed opponent in the campaign for the Presidency is 46 years old--the greatest age difference in presidential history. At your victory rally for the Potomac Primaries, do you:
a. Surround yourself with cheering, buoyant crowds
b. Speak with passion and enthusiasm
c. Choose a gnome and two towering, cadaverous old men to accompany you on the podium during your speech
After both Obama and McCain carried their primaries tonight, the difference in their rallies was palpable. Obama's crowd, while it no doubt contained a few of the old and stooped, radiated hope and energy. The enthusiasm was crackling. Placards were waved. People jumped about.
Then there was McCain. Speaking rather somberly, he was flanked by two old dudes in excreable ties, both of whom looked miserable and constipated. In the background, a woman who was no more than a rag, a bone, and a hank of hair kept squinting at the camera and clapping feverishly. Over McCain's right shoulder peeped what appeared to be a gender-neutral gnome with frosted, greyish hair. Repeatedly, the gnome bobbed and weaved so as not to have its line of vision blocked by McCain's body, but it was hopeless. The gnome was to be denied, and all that could be seen of it was the glimmer of its small eyes. Unfortunately, there was little for the gnome to see anyway—the one shot of the crowd made it look like coffee hour at the retirement home.
The two elderly male attendants to McCain's immediate left and right not only made the poor man look terribly short, but had the air of ominous spectres about to accompany him off to the Dying Place against his will. "Yes," their somber faces attested, "We will listen to your speech, but it will not find favor with us, old man." I expected the lights to darken and someone to rattle sheets of metal offstage to mimic thunder. Then, perhaps, the woman would have rent her garments, and the gnome would have started capering and gibbering weird predictions about the upcoming presidential race.
Maybe it is just me, but if I were old and my opponent had really white teeth and big ears, and was known to be a favorite among the young, I would strongly avoid the presence of extras from The Seventh Seal (yes, they were alive then) at my rallies. Maybe I would stack the podium with a few college kids, a woman who did not look like a wizened rat, and some fellows under 70 who were shorter than me. Just a thought!
a. Surround yourself with cheering, buoyant crowds
b. Speak with passion and enthusiasm
c. Choose a gnome and two towering, cadaverous old men to accompany you on the podium during your speech
After both Obama and McCain carried their primaries tonight, the difference in their rallies was palpable. Obama's crowd, while it no doubt contained a few of the old and stooped, radiated hope and energy. The enthusiasm was crackling. Placards were waved. People jumped about.
Then there was McCain. Speaking rather somberly, he was flanked by two old dudes in excreable ties, both of whom looked miserable and constipated. In the background, a woman who was no more than a rag, a bone, and a hank of hair kept squinting at the camera and clapping feverishly. Over McCain's right shoulder peeped what appeared to be a gender-neutral gnome with frosted, greyish hair. Repeatedly, the gnome bobbed and weaved so as not to have its line of vision blocked by McCain's body, but it was hopeless. The gnome was to be denied, and all that could be seen of it was the glimmer of its small eyes. Unfortunately, there was little for the gnome to see anyway—the one shot of the crowd made it look like coffee hour at the retirement home.
The two elderly male attendants to McCain's immediate left and right not only made the poor man look terribly short, but had the air of ominous spectres about to accompany him off to the Dying Place against his will. "Yes," their somber faces attested, "We will listen to your speech, but it will not find favor with us, old man." I expected the lights to darken and someone to rattle sheets of metal offstage to mimic thunder. Then, perhaps, the woman would have rent her garments, and the gnome would have started capering and gibbering weird predictions about the upcoming presidential race.
Maybe it is just me, but if I were old and my opponent had really white teeth and big ears, and was known to be a favorite among the young, I would strongly avoid the presence of extras from The Seventh Seal (yes, they were alive then) at my rallies. Maybe I would stack the podium with a few college kids, a woman who did not look like a wizened rat, and some fellows under 70 who were shorter than me. Just a thought!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Valentines for Hillary?
I was out to dinner tonight with 5 people and we were struggling--each of us--to come up with even one, lone soul among all our New York friends and acquaintances who is a FAN and supporter of Hillary Clinton. No one could. Not one person. Then I realized that yes, I did know someone! A colleague at work. She likes Hillary, all right. But wait a minute...even she told me this very morning that she voted for Obama. The perfidy of it! Hillary's one known fan, a defector.
Yes, Hillary carried the state of NY, but in my numerous travels I have still not met one individual who likes her, nor one person who says that they voted for her. So, am I simply traveling in unusual circles? Are all the people I know similarly out-of-touch with the cadre of Hillary supporters that no doubt lurks behind every potted plant, in every coffee shop? So where are these people who are voting for Hillary? And more important, who are they?
Yes, older women--right. How much older? Are we talking severely doddering? Cane users? Lumpy, frumpy women of an uncertain age? Wig-wearing bed wetters? Soon enough I'll be "older" myself, but a few years on me won't make her crocodile tears seem suddenly charming.
Hispanics--right. See my friend Jack's comment on that phenomenon. Are there others? Aha! Maybe Bottle Gertie, the old crone who rambles up my street on recycling day with her shopping cart, looking for goodies. Both older and Hispanic! I'll wager her last tooth she likes Hillary. I'll bet Bottle Joe does, too. He's a man, but he looks like he'd like a "Vote Hillary" sweatshirt if I handed one to him.
Everyone I know, however, loathes her. Everyone they know also loathes her. So what's up? Have we been the victims of some cruel space-time ripple that has upended a bunch of southern yokels up here on voting day--who choose "Clinton" in the voting booth because the name "Obama" reminds them of that naughty, turban-headed Moooslim who knocked down our buildings? (The same lumpen swine who probably think "Barack" is another bomb-worthy country with WMDs hidden in the veggie patch and a swarthy leader at its helm.)
If you LOVE Hillary with a capital L, give-her-a-valentine, bumper sticker your arse with her face, bake a crumpet for her campaign kind of way, then please, write to me. I would like to say I know at least one person in the whole wretched state who carries a torch for the woman. At which point I will begin to expound upon Obama's massive ears (he can HEAR you, people!) and hopefully sway you to change your opinion.
As far as the rest of the country goes, I do know one woman in Vermont who likes Hillary. Everyone else I know across the whole massive nation loathes her.
Yes, Hillary carried the state of NY, but in my numerous travels I have still not met one individual who likes her, nor one person who says that they voted for her. So, am I simply traveling in unusual circles? Are all the people I know similarly out-of-touch with the cadre of Hillary supporters that no doubt lurks behind every potted plant, in every coffee shop? So where are these people who are voting for Hillary? And more important, who are they?
Yes, older women--right. How much older? Are we talking severely doddering? Cane users? Lumpy, frumpy women of an uncertain age? Wig-wearing bed wetters? Soon enough I'll be "older" myself, but a few years on me won't make her crocodile tears seem suddenly charming.
Hispanics--right. See my friend Jack's comment on that phenomenon. Are there others? Aha! Maybe Bottle Gertie, the old crone who rambles up my street on recycling day with her shopping cart, looking for goodies. Both older and Hispanic! I'll wager her last tooth she likes Hillary. I'll bet Bottle Joe does, too. He's a man, but he looks like he'd like a "Vote Hillary" sweatshirt if I handed one to him.
Everyone I know, however, loathes her. Everyone they know also loathes her. So what's up? Have we been the victims of some cruel space-time ripple that has upended a bunch of southern yokels up here on voting day--who choose "Clinton" in the voting booth because the name "Obama" reminds them of that naughty, turban-headed Moooslim who knocked down our buildings? (The same lumpen swine who probably think "Barack" is another bomb-worthy country with WMDs hidden in the veggie patch and a swarthy leader at its helm.)
If you LOVE Hillary with a capital L, give-her-a-valentine, bumper sticker your arse with her face, bake a crumpet for her campaign kind of way, then please, write to me. I would like to say I know at least one person in the whole wretched state who carries a torch for the woman. At which point I will begin to expound upon Obama's massive ears (he can HEAR you, people!) and hopefully sway you to change your opinion.
As far as the rest of the country goes, I do know one woman in Vermont who likes Hillary. Everyone else I know across the whole massive nation loathes her.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Our New Beau, the Big O
I've received this latest report straight in from the trenches of the Live Free or Die State! Primary fever is on the boil!
New Hampshire (my beloved home state) has become engaged in a full-blown, mammy-jammin' love fest with our new beau, the Big O. What a man! The entire populace has gone stone-cold bonkers over a chap we heartily overlooked last summer, and the frenzy is building like a bonfire! Grown men are weeping in the streets; the sap has stopped running in the maples; drunken ice-fishermen are debating his middle name; bitter Clintonistas are biting their own spleens in vitriolic envy; fake "Obama Ears" are all the rage; crowds of rowdy youth are chanting "Fired Up Ready to GO!" in every little village hither and yon; and even the bitter cold and crotch-high snow of last week is forgotten in our frenzy to embrace this trend and make history. The poll numbers keep jumping like a cat on a stove, and, as Dan Rather pithily put it in a rare moment of clarity, we don't know whether to "wind our watches or howl at the moon." Most of us are cleverly planning on doing both.
New Hampshire residents live in fear that Hillary will be at the door on Monday, wanting to have a lengthy "policy lunch" while her randy husband talent-spots the teens in the house--yuck! Make no mistake: this is Obama's time, and everybody feels the undertow of what is known as "the madness of crowds," after the legendary book of the same title.
Senator Obama may be selling classic feel-good flim-flam, such as hope for the future of our country, and the notion that we can all work together--but man, it feels good. For the moment, at least, from Dixville Notch to Nashua, and from Freedom to Hanover, this funny old state has been stood on its ear, and we're loving it.
Best to you--
Dan'l Webster's Ghost
New Hampshire (my beloved home state) has become engaged in a full-blown, mammy-jammin' love fest with our new beau, the Big O. What a man! The entire populace has gone stone-cold bonkers over a chap we heartily overlooked last summer, and the frenzy is building like a bonfire! Grown men are weeping in the streets; the sap has stopped running in the maples; drunken ice-fishermen are debating his middle name; bitter Clintonistas are biting their own spleens in vitriolic envy; fake "Obama Ears" are all the rage; crowds of rowdy youth are chanting "Fired Up Ready to GO!" in every little village hither and yon; and even the bitter cold and crotch-high snow of last week is forgotten in our frenzy to embrace this trend and make history. The poll numbers keep jumping like a cat on a stove, and, as Dan Rather pithily put it in a rare moment of clarity, we don't know whether to "wind our watches or howl at the moon." Most of us are cleverly planning on doing both.
New Hampshire residents live in fear that Hillary will be at the door on Monday, wanting to have a lengthy "policy lunch" while her randy husband talent-spots the teens in the house--yuck! Make no mistake: this is Obama's time, and everybody feels the undertow of what is known as "the madness of crowds," after the legendary book of the same title.
Senator Obama may be selling classic feel-good flim-flam, such as hope for the future of our country, and the notion that we can all work together--but man, it feels good. For the moment, at least, from Dixville Notch to Nashua, and from Freedom to Hanover, this funny old state has been stood on its ear, and we're loving it.
Best to you--
Dan'l Webster's Ghost
Sunday, January 6, 2008
"You're Likable Enough"
Look, when it comes down to it, you'll really just sort of do as a human being. But for gosh sakes, you're not as dislikable as, say, a puff adder or a deadly asp. You have nothing to be concerned about. No one really cares for the fact that you have a Medusa-like habit of turning people's blood to an icy slurry and then hardening the poo in their bowels with one steely-eyed glare, but that doesn't make you BAD. You might even be considered "not even close to being nice but just this side of Evil."
Poor Hillary. When she got hurty feelings, that was in fact her most likable moment throughout the debate. (I thought she made a good point about our current so-called President being a "likable guy." Look where that got us! The people who said they'd like to have a beer with him failed to realize that he's sober, a sure sign that he'd veered off the "fun track" some time back.) Obama's "You're likable enough" was in fact his most awkward moment--kind of like a blind date explaining why date # 2 was never, ever going to take place. He could have been more charitable. He could have simply said "It's not you, it's me, baby. I'm just too scorching...HOT! Look at my ears.*"
I'm not trying to be mean here, but I can't help the fact that every time I see Hillary I expect to see frozen death rays shoot out of her eyes. They were so heavy-lidded during the debate, no doubt from pure exhaustion, that when she was baited by the Edwards-Obama "Nyah, nyah, we are change and you are the status quo!" coalition and they SHOT OPEN to their full, robotic size I nearly screamed aloud. NOW the bodily growth to the 10th power and the maniacal stompling begins? It takes at least 2 1/4 hours to relax from that kind of scare.
The chalupa that Bill Richardson was likely dreaming of during the debate ("Your reply, Governor Richardson?" "Mmm...Yo quiero Taco Bell!") has more warmth in its little hide. I mentioned Hillary's lack of warm/fuzzy recently, and my friends pointed out that Hillary is perfectly appealing because she "smiles and laughs." So too does the jackal, before it feeds.
Shallow as it seems, my likability factor rests on two key components:
A. Can we stand to hear your strident/drawling/lugubrious voice for four years straight?
B. Can we stand to see your piggy/purse-lipped/triple-chinned face for the same eternal time period?
If only the President were to be shut up in a box, making Important Decisions in silence and secrecy, then maybe a President Dukakis could have had a wisp of a hope in this world. If you're bearded, bitchy, or overfond of the taste delicacy known as "fourthmeal," good luck to you.
* I might as well state my case. I'm going to choose my next President based on his ears. Barack Obama is not only inspirational, smart, and appealing, but his ears are the largest of all the candidates. What does that mean to you, the voter? All the better to hear you with! His ears are not just "big enough," they are very, very big indeed. Even if you are a meaningless gnat of a person, Obama is going to hear your needs. Think about that.
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