Dan Rather once said that the best advice he ever got was, "Never miss an opportunity to keep your mouth shut."
I believe it's time for me to follow that advice.
.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Sore Loser
The sign at the end of the MSP airport security line clearly states EMPLOYEE AND CREW ENTRANCE. But the skinny white man in a denim jacket, with the little white goatee and mustache, looking like General Lee if he'd become a bitter alcoholic, pushed right in front of me.
"Excuse me, sir," I said. "Are you an employee?"
He stared --I should say, glared-- straight ahead. I smelled RNC, but decided that was my prejudice coming through. In this new age of Unity, I should suspend all old prejudices. Maybe, like myself, the gentleman had bad hearing and bad eyesight.
"Sir, this line is for employees and crew only," I said. I held up my security badge. "You can't get through without a badge."
His high-cheeked head turned on his tight, thin neck. Ice chip blue eyes fixed on my Obama Biden cap. His head swiveled away.
A tall pilot standing behind the man said, "Didn't you hear her? This is for employees and crew only."
Bitter General Lee glared at me. He said, in a Southern accent, "Ugly b*tch." He shoved his way past the pilot, snapping as he went, "F*** Obama."
The pilot, whose profession forces him to endure all kinds of jerks and maniacs while trying not to get them, and himself, killed, rolled his eyes.
Attacking a woman's physical appearance, for lack of wit to attack her ideas, is a commonplace thing. Now, I can take an insult. I'm not sexy or pretty. I'm not even cute. It's become quite clear to me that, if a man found anything attractive about me at all, it'd be my mind.
But it's a sorry, pathetic thing to insult a man who's earned what he's won, and not without paying a price. (Of course, insulting a person's appearance is pathetic as well.) I think that "gentleman" and those like him may be why McCain conceded so early and with such apparent relief. McCain may well have seen what was crawling out from under rocks to give him their support. Having endured the worst of human cruelty in his younger days, McCain may have felt the expectations of such a person weren't the expectations he wanted put upon him.
I hope Bitter General Lee wasn't on that pilot's flight.
"Excuse me, sir," I said. "Are you an employee?"
He stared --I should say, glared-- straight ahead. I smelled RNC, but decided that was my prejudice coming through. In this new age of Unity, I should suspend all old prejudices. Maybe, like myself, the gentleman had bad hearing and bad eyesight.
"Sir, this line is for employees and crew only," I said. I held up my security badge. "You can't get through without a badge."
His high-cheeked head turned on his tight, thin neck. Ice chip blue eyes fixed on my Obama Biden cap. His head swiveled away.
A tall pilot standing behind the man said, "Didn't you hear her? This is for employees and crew only."
Bitter General Lee glared at me. He said, in a Southern accent, "Ugly b*tch." He shoved his way past the pilot, snapping as he went, "F*** Obama."
The pilot, whose profession forces him to endure all kinds of jerks and maniacs while trying not to get them, and himself, killed, rolled his eyes.
Attacking a woman's physical appearance, for lack of wit to attack her ideas, is a commonplace thing. Now, I can take an insult. I'm not sexy or pretty. I'm not even cute. It's become quite clear to me that, if a man found anything attractive about me at all, it'd be my mind.
But it's a sorry, pathetic thing to insult a man who's earned what he's won, and not without paying a price. (Of course, insulting a person's appearance is pathetic as well.) I think that "gentleman" and those like him may be why McCain conceded so early and with such apparent relief. McCain may well have seen what was crawling out from under rocks to give him their support. Having endured the worst of human cruelty in his younger days, McCain may have felt the expectations of such a person weren't the expectations he wanted put upon him.
I hope Bitter General Lee wasn't on that pilot's flight.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I'll stop crying for joy in a day or two
My friends and I drank tea, ate popcorn and cheese and crackers, watching mostly ABC News, at a screen crammed with information. We started at 7 PM. By 10 PM, Obama had around 207 Electoral votes, McCain had around 145 or so, and it looked to be a long night. My roommate and I headed home.
Waiting for us was a phone message from one of the friends we'd just left. ABC News reported that several states had gone to Obama, putting him over. I turned on the TV and almost instantly heard that McCain was conceding.
McCain looked relieved. His eyes were open and bright. He had a natural smile, unlike the forced one he'd worn during the last debate. He appeared to be a man who was quite accepting of his loss, even eager. I recalled the John McCain of years ago, a moderate. I wondered if, in order to win over the extremists of the Republican Party, McCain had given them more of his soul than he'd planned, and moved too far away from his personal sense of honor. Tonight, conceding long before he actually had to, John McCain looked as if he could at last get a good night's rest.
Palin looked as if she were made of wood. Her hands clenched together. Her jaw clenched into a Former Beauty Queen Smile. Even her buttocks were clenched. There was no relief in her eyes. She looked as if this was a decision McCain had made without any consultation with her at all. He had told her, and she had no choice. Her fantasies and dreams were shriveling in the spotlight, right there for all the world to see. When McCain held out his hand, she took it robotically. McCain barely touched her. This wasn't two comrades congratulating each other on a fight well fought. This was a man who had made a mistake disengaging himself from that mistake. McCain, I'm sure, knew he had a future, had work he could do with the new President and Congress, because he did indeed know how to work with people on both sides of the aisle, because he wasn't originally an extremist. Palin had to have left that stage wondering what the hell she was going to do.
There, on the stage in Chicago, a black family and a white family, three generations, grinned and hugged together, little black girls and little white girls clutching each others' hands with excitement. I've lived to see it. I can't believe this has happened, but, wonderfully, I must.
It's been a rough night for this hardened cynic. But, somehow, I'll adapt.
Waiting for us was a phone message from one of the friends we'd just left. ABC News reported that several states had gone to Obama, putting him over. I turned on the TV and almost instantly heard that McCain was conceding.
McCain looked relieved. His eyes were open and bright. He had a natural smile, unlike the forced one he'd worn during the last debate. He appeared to be a man who was quite accepting of his loss, even eager. I recalled the John McCain of years ago, a moderate. I wondered if, in order to win over the extremists of the Republican Party, McCain had given them more of his soul than he'd planned, and moved too far away from his personal sense of honor. Tonight, conceding long before he actually had to, John McCain looked as if he could at last get a good night's rest.
Palin looked as if she were made of wood. Her hands clenched together. Her jaw clenched into a Former Beauty Queen Smile. Even her buttocks were clenched. There was no relief in her eyes. She looked as if this was a decision McCain had made without any consultation with her at all. He had told her, and she had no choice. Her fantasies and dreams were shriveling in the spotlight, right there for all the world to see. When McCain held out his hand, she took it robotically. McCain barely touched her. This wasn't two comrades congratulating each other on a fight well fought. This was a man who had made a mistake disengaging himself from that mistake. McCain, I'm sure, knew he had a future, had work he could do with the new President and Congress, because he did indeed know how to work with people on both sides of the aisle, because he wasn't originally an extremist. Palin had to have left that stage wondering what the hell she was going to do.
There, on the stage in Chicago, a black family and a white family, three generations, grinned and hugged together, little black girls and little white girls clutching each others' hands with excitement. I've lived to see it. I can't believe this has happened, but, wonderfully, I must.
It's been a rough night for this hardened cynic. But, somehow, I'll adapt.
In My Lifetime
I walked to the Church of St. Helen in the dark of 6 AM. The weather was lovely. My neighborhood streets were softly pillowed with bright yellow maple leaves. The polling station wasn't supposed to open until 7 AM, and I assumed I'd be alone for at least a half an hour, so I was armed with my mini flashlight and a book.
There were already approximately fifty people in line. A middle-aged woman generously offered all of us home-made muffins and bread. The chatting was eager. The atmosphere was the most excited I've ever felt.
The poll people opened the door early and allowed us to wait inside, but the line went up the stairs and out the door.
I had a wholly unexpected experience. I gazed at the tiny black dot I'd made to mark that I was voting for Barack Obama and Joe Biden. Tears swelled and ran down my cheeks. I startled myself. I hadn't realized how much this election means to me. I've just voted for a black man for President of the United States. I thought as I looked at that small, incredibly significant dot. And he may very well win. I'm seeing this happen in my lifetime. I wish Mom and Dad were here.
I wiped my cheeks, and slipped my sheet into the electronic machine. When I stuck my I Voted sticker on my shirt, the tears rose again. Happy tears.
I came up from the church basement to a line that was almost around the building, and it was only 7:10 AM. More cars and pedestraians were arriving. To use a very apt cliche, the air was electric. Golden-rose sunlight was just warming through the tree branches as I walked away, putting on my Obama Biden baseball cap.
And now...the wait.
There were already approximately fifty people in line. A middle-aged woman generously offered all of us home-made muffins and bread. The chatting was eager. The atmosphere was the most excited I've ever felt.
The poll people opened the door early and allowed us to wait inside, but the line went up the stairs and out the door.
I had a wholly unexpected experience. I gazed at the tiny black dot I'd made to mark that I was voting for Barack Obama and Joe Biden. Tears swelled and ran down my cheeks. I startled myself. I hadn't realized how much this election means to me. I've just voted for a black man for President of the United States. I thought as I looked at that small, incredibly significant dot. And he may very well win. I'm seeing this happen in my lifetime. I wish Mom and Dad were here.
I wiped my cheeks, and slipped my sheet into the electronic machine. When I stuck my I Voted sticker on my shirt, the tears rose again. Happy tears.
I came up from the church basement to a line that was almost around the building, and it was only 7:10 AM. More cars and pedestraians were arriving. To use a very apt cliche, the air was electric. Golden-rose sunlight was just warming through the tree branches as I walked away, putting on my Obama Biden baseball cap.
And now...the wait.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)