Democrats, We’re Fucking This Up: A Call for Party Unity

If your life is anything like mine (e.g. you’re on the Internet, all day), you already know the ins and outs of the race for the Democratic nomination. Day after day, columnists and pundits play Hot Potato with home-spun topics, and we watch and read in return. So I’m not going to waste our time here with all the twists and follies. (Look them up if you like.) But Democrats, listen, we are seriously fucking this up. Sen. McCain, a Republican, is leading both Sen. Obama and Sen. Clinton, nationally. This, after only two weeks of the Republican machine throwing stones at Obama, as Clinton stood silently on the sidelines. The Democratic National Convention begins five months from tomorrow, leaving only two months until the general election.

Day Outside: Photos

A Short Note…

Supporters of Sen. Barack Obama, Democrats, Independents and supportive Republicans: NOW is the time to fight. Now is the time to dig in our heels and demand our country be greater than it’s one fickle dimension–put-on or put-off. Let us realize a greater politics that can only serve to strengthen our nation, our economy, our standing in the world. Our lives right now. Be proud of yourself and your country by standing up on shaky ground; by beating back the criticisms of hypocrites and box blathering fools. Now is the time to fight.

We have one chance, right now, to prove to ourselves and to the world, that we can recognize quality when we see it. Not the static quality of “America is Great.” For today, in this changing world, that is not enough. Instead, let us embrace a dynamic quality, an energy constantly moving forward, that challenges us to greatness beyond what our past has afforded thus far.  It is this “dynamic quality” that Sen. Obama embodies. And that guarantees the change we demand. Now is the time to fight.

Sunday

Sundays always nudge my eyes open with their lonely daylight. Those mornings after wet and sloppy nights; useless regrets abound. This Sunday, I awoke to a forceful dose of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, helped along by a charred concoction of eggs, liquid smoke, garlic powder, MSG, salt, sesame oil and bacon, consumed late the night before.

Mr. President, You’re Thinking About This All Wrong

I stole my headline from a Chicago Tribune article, by Cass R. Sunstein, a colleague of Sen. Barack Obama at the University of Chicago Law School. Though they’ve been friends for “nearly 15 years,” Sunstein raises few points about Obama that many of us don’t already know: He’s a good listener; he’s interested in hearing all sides of the issue; he rejects the Red State-Blue State dichotomy, etc… Mr. Sunstein does, however, speak particularly highly of Sen. Obama’s grasp of “policy and detail,” and gives specific examples of his refusal to bow to Washington’s operational status-quo.

Thanks, Mr. Pope. Now I’m a BIGGER Sinner.

As if I weren’t a big enough sinner already, The Pope released his new list of sins this week. I’ve been using the Lord’s name in vain and partying hard on Sundays for a while now. So I already knew I’d bought my ticket to Hell, but thanks to The Pope, I’ve got a first class seat now on an express train to the fiery flames of evil. Here are the new sins that were literally INVENTED this week. (By the way, who really believes this sh*t anymore?)

YOU ARE NOW A SINNER IF…

Relationships…like meals.

I was never sure what I thought about love. I was always sure, however, what I was supposed to think about love. Raised by two apocalyptically wrong for each other parents, relationships were hardly defined by compatibility and support for me. In fact, looking back on those innocent high school boyfriends, I really have no idea at all what sort of fruit I was seeking from those still then foreign trees. When I look back at those songs I was writing for guy after guy after guy, I can’t make sense of it. I would scribble passionate lyrics across an oh so cliche napkin. I would pronounce my aching devotion, which yes, the two have always gone hand in hand for me. It seems as though I have always been quite masterful at giving everything there is to give and feeling everything there is to feel instantaneously with a person. It could be my impatience or fear, or both, that has kept me from letting anything marinate.

Wet Fingers on Daylight Savings Time

Ok, half of TL is here, and we’re tripping balls. My head feels like a plastic balloon, and the dog crawls across the couch with a nervous detention. ER is here. He’s been out for the past five days, partying, working and playing his music through his days. It feels like I’m wucking my fingers at the keyboard, and I’m nearly amazed that anything happens. Or that I’m moving, really. CC took Dot out. She’s sleeping and in a ball in the lap. It’s tired, and wet outside. Dub Trio is massaging through the air and we feel good. The dog’s now asleep, and SE is doing the chores. M’s woken up and is annoying everyone. ER gets him calmed down. I laugh and my eyes leak from the laughing. ER talks about a dude he met last night.

“He’s talking about politics, or some shit. And he said ‘Shit, dude is that a wedding ring?’” But the son of a bitch had the wrong finger…

For Fuck’s Sake, Enough With the Bombs, Dude!

What about this for an idea: don’t blow people up. Huh? How ’bout that? I’m not saying you can’t blow shit up. Listen, I like lighting off a firecracker or two. But the point is, that dude, over there, had a hand. And now he doesn’t. See what I mean? It’s not a good story to tell at a barbeque, let’s just put it that way.

I love you. (PUKE).

When you’re dating a guy who you really like, you might start to kind of just a little bit fall in love with him eventually (GAYYYY, I KNOWWW). And when you do…the tormenting of your heart begins. Now all of your eye locking moments aren’t just “sweet”. They’re now opportunities to exchange those magical three (GAYYYYYY) words. You catch yourself biting your tongue every time you want to say it. He should have to say it first, right? But nonetheless, that doesn’t change the sudden awkwardness in the room when some lead hunk in a movie the two of you are watching tells his damsel in distress that he is in love with her. (And you’re GAY boyfriend hasn’t noticed yet that this is all a movie and he is supposed to be the hunk; you…the damsel.)