Dee-Rob

Here’s my new routine, debate style. Fire up my computer, fire up the TV, Twitter, watch, watch CurrentTV, read political weblogs, watch videos on people’s weblogs and twitters, watch CNN, watch MSNBC, slip in Lehrer if M. leaves the room and remote, watch more, read more.

I’m on information overload. I even read Maureen Dowd today. I normally don’t dig her schtick much, but I think we all need to remember her closer, “True mavericks don’t brand themselves.”

Although, that might presuppose those guys using a dictionary. Amusingly, my latest read in the weblogosphere, because it’s going to be my hometown news, threw out this post and link. Apparently the actual Mavericks, the descendants, are going for Obama and hating on the misuse of the family legacy.

And, while the rhetorical overkill is bringing me down, reliable Donna Brazile provides a reminder of what’s important. Watch her closing at the New Yorker Festival.

Apart from the presidential thang, I’ll be keeping the uplift in mind while striking down California’s proposed gay marriage ban.

On HBO’s “Real Time with Bill Maher,” Andrew Sullivan, for whom normally I have no great love, at all, made a great point. We ALL every last one of us need to vote, and we HAVE TO CONVINCE five friends to also vote. We have to NOT LET THIS WOMAN BE VICE PRESIDENT.

Pretty much my readership of three here features two voters and a foreigner. But, if there is anyone unsure, vote early and often against Sarah Palin. I won’t say you gotta vote Obama, but my womb, strangers’ wombs, polar bears, the Russians outside her kitchen window, and anyone ever who thought “What a fucking idiot” should all be considered, and the right thing must be done.

(Hbee, I’m looking in your direction. Put aside the retardation of DNC squabbling. Just say to yourself “President Sarah Fucking Palin.”)

Have we learned nothing from the Hey, he seems like a great guy that you could have a beer with school of political thinking?

She’s a neo-con, she’s a fucking Pentecostal, which even other Christians think can get pretty freakshow what with speaking in tongues, faith healing and charasmatic multi-day prayer fests (which I’m sure help you along to that “drunk with the spirit” state).

Politics aside, though, what irks me is she’s apparently a wiz at pop culture, ‘cuz that will really fucking help at state dinners, and worse she still is living in her high school yearbook.

Old Sarah and I are the same age. At 44 years young, she’s actually about two weeks older than me. You know how many people I still talk with from BHS class of 1981 at all, let alone with frequency? Two. (Not including my immediate family.) You know how many I would give cush, appointed government jobs without any relevant experience apart from a love of cows? Yeah.

I come from small-town, middle-class white America. (Although, my small town is ginormous compared to Wasilla, AK.) I’m pretty sure most of my high school graduating class have gone on to do a few other things. I’m certain not many of them are still boosting their championship ball handling over a quarter of a century ago as a resume highlight.

Fucking, GAH. Seriously. If you met someone at a party or cookout or bar or a prayer service or grocery store who was over 40 and talked about the lessons they learned as the “Barracuda” in the high school gym, you’d think “What a fucking loser,” and you’d move on. Hell, by college, I remember going on two dates with a guy who kept talking about his disappointment at prom (only a couple years before) and I thought it was a bad sign. Insert 20+ more years, and I’d be running to the door.

My resume goes back 10 years, because I’ve had, you know, jobs and experiences and shit in the last 27 years. My high school isn’t on it. (Maybe the discrepancy is I graduated in 1981, and she graduated in 1982. That could be the essential cutoff year.)

You know what a local, inexperienced, talkative, charasmatic hockey mom with a vague interest in politics and aspirations beyond her town would be great at? Community organizer.

Man, oh fucking man. Today was one of those days when shit didn’t stop and a late start meant I wasn’t no never catching up.

My own damn fault on the late start, too. I woke up the same time as usual, but I had left my car at work and had to hoof it. A ten minute ride is a lot shorter than a 45 minute walk
The plus side (and it’s delusional) is I haven’t yet talked to anyone impressed by old Sarah Palin. The delusion part is due to my chunk of the United States being about non-wedge, non-swing as you can get. I’m pretty sure when the ballots are counted the Bay Area just might swing left.

We need a summer place in Toledo, so we could vote where it might matter.

We’re maybe kind of sort of closer to deciding whether to buy a house. We’re getting in real tight to the rental/mortgage break even point. Better yet, thanks to fucked up corporate greed and mismanagement in housing, the now government owned Fannie and Freddie, we’re looking at the possibility of a measly 5-6% interest rate.

Holy smokes. This might be the second time in my life I might ride the misery left behind in a Republican Bush presidency into personal success. Holy Fuck. I hope that does mean I have to join the GOP.

After a week (or a tad less) back at work, and some much needed sleep, we’re almost back into our routine (i.e. boring) lives. Thank god.

The fun thing back at work was due to a leave that meant I hadn’t seen my boss since before Christmas, and left on vacation right before we would see each other again, a few official things were a tad delayed in our office. Among them was the official word on annual salaries. Right when I came back, voila, letter about my salary. It was good news all around and a bit surprising. (Well, not that surprising, since for a full year there’s been convos about how the work I was doing didn’t quite match the cash, since the position I was hired to had once been filled by someone half my age with no prior experience.)

Of course, because of past experiences with my so-called real jobs, I’m in a bit of neurotic zone. If past performance is an indicator of future success, then I have a couple more years of impressing the powers that be and taking on more responsibility so my value and earnings increase. Then, I will flame out in an amazing blaze of glory. I wonder how it will be this time.

On the political front, now that I am back in the U.S. of A., I’m in awe of how truly fucked up the Bill and Hill show has become. They were the ones with the campaign chops, the machine, the ultimate strategies. Now it’s a bit sad. Like a prize fighter staying in the ring that one last fight past his prime. Or some other hackneyed metaphor.

Once Obama seemed like the unlikely young also ran, now it seems like his game to lose. My feminist side does weep that Hillary was the best we could do at this historic moment.

Meanwhile, is anyone fucking surprised that McCain is cozy with lobbyists. I don’t believe the grumpy, old man nailed Vicki Iseman, mostly because she doesn’t look the sort who wants to wake up and wash the old man smell off herself.

What amazes me is the McCain hubris. Other politicians according to his world run the risk of being tainted with their associations with fundraisers, corporations, lobbyists and whatnot. But, not John, nope he’s impervious Apparently, all other pols are weak-willed and susceptible, but he has integrity.

I mean obviously, anyone who learned such a lesson in corruption by helping to fuck up the savings and loan industry would now be a pillar among men, right? Someone like that would never again associate with questionable characters and appear to peddle his influence. Oh wait, he would, but he’d no better and his new lobbying friends are the good guys.

Other than that, same old, same old, and I’m happy to be back in it. I also have photos up here: http://gallery.mac.com/dee_rob and here: http://dee-rob.com/zenphoto for different viewing experiences (and so as not to direct co-workers who asked for pics to this particular site of web ignominy).

M. particularly likes these shots.

I can’t believe that his aunt asked if I wanted “black jelly,” and I said yes.