Doce me faces voluntarem tuam quia Deus meus es tu

Friday, October 29, 2004
I opened my inbox this morning to find a letter from Barbara and Jenna Bush. For a fleeting moment, I thought "what if..." What if they found this site? What if they liked it? What if Texas lost to Texas A&M and Oklahoma State? What if Alabama won the rest of its games? What if UT and Alabama met in the Cotton Bowl? And they were there? And I was there? And we ... shook hands???

Oh, nevermind.

The letter they sent to the Bush/Cheney e-mail list was titled "Behind the Scenes with Barbara and Jenna Bush." If that's not a dangerous movie title, I don't know what is. And the ladies have scribbly signatures. Oh, I know, Dad. I'm one to talk.

So it's four days until the party starts. And by party, I mean lawyers. Lots of lawyers in Ohio and Michigan and Pennsylvania and Florida. Call it the Big Ten barrister convention, with Miami making a special guest apperance. I suppose I could spend this weekend doing my part to help the cause, but Alabama is so firmly in W's column that I fear the GOP faithful might get annoyed with the calls from the phone bank. Then again, the Crimson Tide has the weekend off, so we've less to be agitated about. A pro-Bush phone call might do some good.

Voter turnout is the buzz word this week. Record numbers, they say. I'm not sure I buy it. Most folks register to vote when they register for selective service. I know a healthy number of high school students who registered to vote when they were in government class. So how are there supposedly millions (and millions!) of previously unregistered voters between the ages of 18 and 24? Beats me. I suppose I should look at a few statistics before making to strong a judgement. Still it strikes me that a lot of outlets for registration exist, and I'm curious as to how so many young people slip through the cracks. I know if I was still eighteen, the sight of a crusty old Bruce Springsteen encouraging me to vote for John Kerry would have done the trick. I would have run to the nearest polling place, whether registered there or not, and pulled the lever or plucked the chad for George W. Bush.

Seriously, who's buying this? Forty-year olds who still drive their old Camaro and sing "Born to Run" like it's 1977? I understand there's a significant chunk of young America foolish enough to base their political values on the wit and wisdom of Conor Oberst, but thank goodness I haven't met them. If you are one of them, please don't tell me. I hate to lower my opinions of people.

This is the deal, and it's pretty simple. We're all entitled to an opinion. It's sort of a God-given kind of thing. And here in the States, you're even free to state that opinion. I, on the other hand, am free to cover my arms and begin to sing "Nobody Does It Better" just to drown you out. And by the by, what makes you (or me, I suppose) qualified to say anything? I'm out to be an educated elitist. Well maybe a little, but that's beside the point. One of our problems in this country is our refusal to be discerning and critical. Simply having the right to an opinion doesn't mean it deserves to be heard. The fact that Dave Matthews is on a stage does not give him particular political insight; it simply gives him an outlet. He can use it as he chooses, but it's wise to remember how he got to the dance. It sure wasn't his ability to discourse on all the nuances in Middle Eastern policy.

Last night a friend suggested the one benefit of a John Kerry presidency would be no more Michael Moore. It's almost enough to alter my vote, but at this point I'm convinced that Michael Moore is a disease that will not die. He is the venereal disease of the body politic. He stays with us forever. Like luggage.

Who knows, maybe a Kerry win will force the Vote for Change crowd to go back to making music. The Dixie Chicks might even lose their appeal with Hollywood. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. Natalie Maines would finally cease talking about threats to democracy (unless she wants to talk about North Korea or Iran, in which case I'm all ears), or the gals might find themselves back on the radio. And if there's one thing in my life I need less than a rabid politico screaming to me at four in the afternoon, it's turning on the radio to hear a hobbit-sized Texan singing "Goodbye Earl." It's almost enough to make me rush out and buy the Toby Keith greatest hits collection. Maybe with John Kerry things will go back to normal. As it is, they'll let me have my rock and roll, but they won't let me have my President. Then again, if normal means less politics and more rock to go along with a nuclear Iran, I'll take my chances with the music.

Let Eddie Vedder moan and wail. We've got mullahs to disarm.
8:16 AM :: ::
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