Friday, November 14, 2008
Whether you're an Obama fan or not -- and I'm sort of a lukewarm one -- there's no denying the dramatic change in the political atmosphere signaled by his election. It's mainly due to the sudden influx of new participants in that hoary quadrennial ritual, the casting of the ballots (or pushing of the computer screens, or mailing of the pink envelopes, or whatever) -- large numbers of voters who were formerly alienated from the process for one reason or another.
But at the same time this is occurring, the psycho one-third who have had their way with us for most of these past eight years -- most of the last 30 years, actually -- are going bananas, like so many rats hopping about on an electrified wire grid. They know their day is done, and they're not going quiet into that good night.
Today as I sat in the Bay Club, the central gathering place which serves the obnoxiously cushy and affluent exurb where I'm currently staying as I care for my aged mother, I was minding my own business and using their wireless connection. Out of the blue, I was rudely and bluntly assaulted by an aged fascist freak, a braying jackass who got up in my face, rattling off Rush Limbaugh's talking points from yesterday faster than I could shrug my shoulders and give the standard non-response.
"I'm not gonna listen to this," I finally said, as I packed up my lappy and ran for the door.
It was the wrong thing to do. So tomorrow I'll stand my ground when he returns to rattle my cage once more -- and I know he will-- I'll try politely, very politely, asking him to please leave me alone. And if that doesn't work -- who knows?
I've said it before, but it bears repeating. We're moving on, and this train isn't waiting for anybody. Therefore, it left a whole bunch of clueless Joe Jacksons standing in the station.