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Truth: Obama’s message was vague,
Hillary’s campaign surged, but
he had understood caucuses,
how the party allocates delegates.
He won because of rules, and
an adoring press corps.
Now his soaring oratory must
battle stoic speechifying,
his elegance, entrenched heroism.
And most scary, that press corps
is owned by Republican stalwarts
motivated by personal profit.
The truth is, Obama’s message wasn’t better.
Her campaign wasn’t weaker. He won an even
race by going after caucuses she ignored
and recognizing delegates would be allocated
proportionately. We don’t want to admit it,
but he outsmarted our best white politician.
Funding faith-based organizations,
immunizing telephone companies,
and refining troop withdrawal plans,
sound disturbingly McCainlike.
If Barack keeps moving away
from the “yes we can” chanters
there won’t be any real distinction
between and him and his opponent.
Maybe it’s all part of a new plan.
During the lull in his campaign perhaps
he had time to read Business Week,
and changed his mind about winning.
She built a bridge to unity.
He helped, but added graffiti.
Bragged his universal health
insurance would be optional.
Republicans scoffed, but
cable news seemed satisfied the
speeches and choreography could
fuel weeks of wild speculation.
Business calls layoffs
productivity improvements.
Higher co pays for doctors
are cost reductions.
Foreclosures serve to
clean up the balance sheet.
Free trade rewards us with
cheap products at Wal-Mart
Pumping our own gas
is the first step toward
energy independence.
“Sorry,” the anchor said, “we’ll watch
this, and return if they get around to
super delegates.” Judicious editing and
concentration on the important explains
why our electorate is so well informed.
Is it safe to assume the same
guys will choose a black man
over a white man? Remember,
they gave Bush a second term.
Barack might win if Hillary
runs for vice president and wives
and mothers nag those men into
voting for them both this time.
Primaries may stimulate local business,
increase audiences for cable news, and make
consultants wealthy, but they didn’t select
a consensus candidate this time. This system
produced a potential Democratic disaster.
Historically the best contenders were chosen
by politicos in smoke-filled rooms from known
available talent, not by the electorate from self-
selected campaigners. Clearly, breathing smoke
is better for nominating than blowing smoke.
Joan Hoagland Milder
]]>After almost a year of getting acquainted,
Democrats swung from Clinton to Obama
and back again in less than a week.
Of course they are very much alike,
except for age, sex, race, experience, and
Obama’s for change. Clinton already did that.
I think change is worrisome. Scary at worst,
problematic at best. The only change I know
that’s always for the better is diapers.
Then a pain went down my leg.
I stopped massaging, took pills
and walked sparingly with a cane
while the bulging discs in my spine
relaxed and stopped pinching nerves.
In a few months the pain subsided,
but my arthritic joints have stiffened,
and I am frequently out of breath.
Instead of helping me walk,
the cane now keeps me from falling.
Test after test finds my heart and lungs
function at the low edge of normal.
The only firm diagnosis is sleep apnea.
That doesn’t cause shortness of breath,
but treating it might eventually help.
So I sleep in a Darth Vader mask hooked
to a pump. I feel strange, look weird,
but awake refreshed. My stamina
may be improving. When dressing,
I don’t rest as long between socks.
Medical science probably won’t
find the cause of my problem ― beyond
being overweight, out of shape, and old.
Rather than accept those lame excuses,
I have settled for blaming the cat.
Always the faithful servant, Bush dedicates
his final year in office to writing slogans
and constructing deals to make it difficult
for a successor to bring the troops home.
But his plan will fail, if, as expected, he
turns the job over to people with all the
the competence of his usual crew ―
They will do way too little, way too late.
He started as a cheerleader urging
the fearful and the righteous to seize
government, ended running a soup kitchen.
He serves supporters friendly judges and
regulators. Contributors receive bid-free
contracts, cheap labor and tax breaks.
Everyone else gets fantasy: Clear Skies,
Clean Air, No Child Left Behind. Bush
first mangled English, then destroyed it.
Now that the country is conquered and fed,
he can polish his legacy by not bombing Iran.
History can then say, “he avoided one disaster.”
That’s bull.
Right wing nuts
created this mess.
Left wing nuts
won’t fix it.
We need leadership
from the middle.
Kick the nuts
out of government.
Publicly finance the
election of politicians
business won’t buy
and interest groups
won’t support.
Rejects are the folks
we should elect.
The liberal party has become
kids grabbing snacks from
the candy store, just like
Republicans ― but with
appropriate new deal decor.
The party of the middle class
kicked its voters in the ass,
and trashed its principles, and
no top tier hopeful seems truly
willing to clean-up Bush’s mess.
Then, purring loudly, she marches
up my side, each paw pressing a ton
per square foot, and sits on my ribs.
“Time to go out,” she meows, until
I get up. She trots to the kitchen,
looking back to yowl, “hurry.”
I stagger hand-over-hand around
the counter, drop to a chair and slide
the door open. She sniffs the frost.
I close the door. “Not yet.” I open it
again, she steps into the gap sits
and purrs, “This will be just fine.”
When I try to nudge her out she bites
my toe, backs up a little and bounds
out like a kid jumping into a lake.
As I head back to bed I think, at least
she gave the risk of going out
more thought than Bush gave Iraq.
But illegals depress wages, and people
want laws enforced. Business prefers
making today’s mess legal. Practical
politicians side with their benefactors.
Bush’s “comprehensive immigration
reform” fell victim to public outcry,
but a crafty Congress chopped it into
pieces they can hide in other bills.
Of course they’re not likely to pass
any bills, but if they should, Bush
might pull his trusty new-found veto
pen from its scabbard and stab them.
Like Congress, the traffic corps didn’t
care where anyone was going, or why.
They concentrated on their performing
arts and collecting contributions, but
the cops came to work every day and
kept things moving while they were there.
The sight of a pretty girl took my breath away,
but that was imagination, not effort.
Over the years, age eroded my once strong body.
Putting on socks became a challenge.
Trips to the basement required planning.
As bending over got hard, and straightening up iffy,
I put long-handled grabbers all over the house.
Most mornings I rest after I climb out of bed.
Later, tongue out and panting, like a dog that just fetched,
I trudge up the driveway with a red face and the mail.
If there’s a copy of AARP Magazine, I grasp it between
thumb and forefinger, and drop it in the recycling bin.