Oh-bomb-uh

Before we head too far down the overgrown path of my psycho-sexual (emphasis on psycho, definitely not on sexual) life, let's recap for a moment (and analyze ad nauseam) that very American, summertime reality show, The Race for the White House.

And what a jaw-dropping, mind-boggling, space-time-continuum-imploding series of episodes we sat through this week!

We saw the first African-American man nominated for president by a major party. We witnessed a Kennedy (Teddy, to be specific) rise from the dead (rather than leaving someone for dead) to inflict his has-been family's legacy upon the Democrats once more. Next up, we beheld the Republicans make a bold move and nominate their first female vice president--none other than Designing Women's Suzanne Sugarbaker. (Former beauty queen, fond of guns and right-wing politics--all that's missing is the pet pig and Consuela the maid. You tell me the difference.)

And, finally, we saw the nation's first major-party presidential candidate make an equally bold move by doing the exact opposite of all popular expectation--ignoring his experienced, well-known female opponent and choosing instead as his running mate the most boring, ineffectual white guy in American politics (after Joe Lieberman), none other than the Delaware (Dream) Destroyer, Joe Biden.

Wow! The Nielsen's must be through the stratosphere.

I won't even attempt to cover all these topics in this one posting--there aren't enough bytes in the universe, and my attention span isn't that good to begin with. So I will instead just try to focus on one (or two) topics at a time, leaving further snide comments about those damned Kennedys and Miss Half-Baked Alaska 1977 for another day, another entry.

* * *

To say I was majorly underwhelmed and grandly disappointed by Barack Obama's choice for vice president doesn't even begin to explain the depths of depression I experienced upon hearing the news while visiting family on the Cote d'Kansas last weekend. For you see, I fear that this choice for veep was a fatal mistake, that by ignoring Hillary Clinton's supporters in favor of the same ol' same ol'--an old-line, ineffectual, establishment white guy from the Northeast, Barack and Company have just cost the Democrats the election in the fall.

I hope I'm wrong. After all, my track record at picking presidents is spotty at best, famously thinking that Mondale stood a chance of beating Reagan in 1984. However, I can't help but think that in one amazingly bone-headed move, the Candidate for Change and the fresh-from-life support Democratic Party just did a political 180, reverting to type, sticking with the tried and the torpid, and have thus ruined for all of us any chance at a speedy retreat from Iraq, the provision of universal healthcare, the development of a decent social safety net, and an earnest focus on global warming and alternate sources of energy.

Moreover, I am concerned that the Democrats, through their amazing ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory at every turn, have resigned us all to more greed, more social conservatism, more polarizing national discourse, and perhaps worst of all, the sort of Ice Princess glamour that can only be proffered by a beer-distributing heiress from Arizona.

I think the Dems owe us all big time for these indignities. They not only ruined our weekend; they may well have sacrificed our lamby little lives for at least another four to eight years.

* * *

Unfortunately, it was never as simple as choosing Hillary for V.P.--although perhaps it should have been. It was a lengthy, hard-fought, and somewhat nasty battle through the primaries, and perhaps those wounds, mistrusts, and jealousies don't heal easily, even (or especially) among the Statecraft Class. Plus there is so much baggage with the Clintons, as big-mouthed Bill Clinton seemed to want to remind us of at every turn, despite his wife's and the country's best interests otherwise.

Still, if you can't let bygones be bygones within your own party, how they heck are you going to make peace in the Middle East?

But American Tourister aside, 18 million votes and a delegate count that was on par with or (with Michigan and Florida in full and fair play) exceeded that of Obama's should have been extremely hard--if not, what? illegal? unethical? impractical?--to ignore.

Yet ignored it was. In favor of . . . Joe Biden, of all things. The beige carpeting, pressed wood paneling, and dingy Laz-e-boy recliner in the national basement rumpus room known as the U.S. Senate. What a world, what a freakin' world.

While in some corners, Obama is widely derided for being a good speechmaker and little else, I think the power of making a good speech--that is, empowering people through leadership--should not be so easily dismissed. Still, in practical terms, he does lack a great deal of national and international experience. (He's only a year older than I am, after all, and I have enough trouble figuring out international electrical currents and small appliance plugs.) It's a fair complaint, and, all in all, I'd feel more comfortable with him if he'd done a Hillary and not a John Edwards and bothered to finish out one or two terms in the Senate, rather than using the first term as a launchpad for national and international stardom.

Granted, the critique of experience is unevenly applied. Bill Clinton had little national or international experience prior to becoming president, as most certainly did George Dubya--although, admittedly, summoning the specter of the Doofus of the Century is hardly a pro statement in favor of winging it and learning on the job.

So I understand the necessity for Joe Biden, as opposed to, say, Kansas Governor Kathleen Sebelius--a savvy politico but one without national recognition (yet)--but I can't get excited over the prospects of a Joe Biden anywhere near the White House either. What does Biden bring to the table other than a too many years of service in the same job? Three electoral votes from Delaware? Wouldn't those have more than likely gone to Obama anyway? Old-line liberal Dem voters from the East and Midwest? Again, likely to support Obama regardless. Women voters? Western and Southern voters? Bitter, working-class Pennsylvania voters? Not bloody likely on any of the three counts.

And exactly what experience, what accomplishments, does ol' Non-Smokin' Joe bring to the table? Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock--time's up! Exactly. As last Sunday's political pundits waxed on about the Joe-you-don't-know, regaling us with tales of his Pennsylvania roots, the death of his first wife and child, and his daily rail commute from his home in Delaware to Washington, D.C., all I could focus on was this--if Ol' Joe is so effective a leader in the Senate, then why, after nearly four decades of commuting via Amtrak, is Amtrak such a steaming pile of caca as a national transportation system?

Thus, without a bold move--like selecting Hillary Clinton for veep, or maybe someone like Madeleine Albright (part of the Clinton legacy but not one necessarily tainted or ruined by it)--one that takes into account the more conservative nature of this nation (and I'm not sure selecting Hillary would have done that), the political disenfranchisement that I know many outside the Northeast feel (and I'm not convinced selecting Madeleine Albright would have accomplished that either but a Kathleen Sebelius or Janet Napolitano might), and one that recognizes the strongly motivated faction that Hillary represents--I'm just not sure November will bring about the changes that we all say we crave and which, whether we realize it or not, we desperately need.

* * *

Just because I have been massively depressed over the prospect of the likes of Joe Biden one heartbeat away from the presidency, doesn't mean that my family and I haven't been able to find some humor in these happenings. It is indeed a case of should we laugh or cry? I've attempted to do the former, at least a little, even though I really have wanted to do the latter to anyone who will listen.

Lucky you.

The first funny for me was the acclaim that Joe Biden's nomination seemed to engender among the news media--with the lone exception of a reporter from the San Francisco Chronicle who flatly stated, "Joe Biden came in fifth in Iowa--how is this going to help anyone?"

Honestly, who knew people in San Francisco were that aware?

From the pro-Biden-nomination camp, my favorite accolade came from CNN's Candy Crowley, who remarked that Biden was an excellent choice because he is "beloved" by Pennsylvanians, apparently because he hails from Scranton and lived there until he was aged 10 or so.

Ah, Scranton. The Dunder-Mifflin of American cities.

So I guess your argument is as goes Pennsylvania, so goes the nation? Oh, Candy, be careful what you wish for.

Look, I know we Pennsylvanians are 10 million strong--and there must be at least double that number that fled the state and reside elsewhere now, chiefly in Florida. Nevertheless, I kinda don't think the Keystone State represents the national zeitgeist. Maybe the Northeast and Midwest zeitgeist (maybe), but there are several million more people and 30 or more states scattered around this country. Being that most Americans outside of Pennsylvania still envision our Commonwealth as a decaying, industrial rustbucket with miserable weather (none of which is really true anymore, at least, in the case of the former, if you don't leave Pittsburgh's East End or stick to Philadelphia's Main Line, and at least, in the case of the latter, for six months out of the year), I can't trust that the rest of America is in sync with this particular state of independence.

And if it is, then as a nation, we're all far worse off than we ever imagined.

Furthermore, regarding the "native son" factor, I can truthfully say that in my four years living in Pennsylvania, I've never once heard anyone mention Joe Biden's name, let alone tell me how much they love him. Hell, no one even talks about Snarlin' Arlen Specter, and he's been one of our U.S. senators since at least before Cher's first farewell tour.

Governor (and heavyweight Hillary supporter) Ed Rendell, check. Senator (and middleweight Barack supporter) Bob Casey, check. Even that right-wing asswipe, former Senator Rick Santorum, check. All mentioned.

But Joe Freakin' Biden? Un-unh.

Still, that "beloved by Pennsylvanians" comment struck me funny and rather inspired me to think about the ways that Pennsylvanians might have paid homage to Joe Biden, if only they'd remembered him from the ten years that he lived in state.

For example . . .

• Being that it takes less than 6 hours to drive from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia but nearly 9 hours to travel via Amtrak the same distance--which you can do only twice a day in either direction--the Keystone Limited could be renamed the "Biden Our Time." Very Limited.

• Or if Joe decided to drive the distance in one of his many motor tours of the Commonwealth, apple-cheeked residents bedecked in our traditional state costumes of lederhosen and dirndl skirts might shower his limousine with freshly made scrapple and pierogies as he wends his way along the Pennsylvania Turnpike. (Scrapple in the east, pierogies in the west, maybe some chicken-and-waffles in between.)
  

• Or perhaps up in State College, once the snowpack melts, it could finally be revealed that Joe's visage had been carved into the face of Mount Nittany.

• Or possibly birds on their migrations north and south could spontaneously fly in formation, organizing themselves into a flight pattern resembling Joe's profile, the whole while vowing not to crap all over the countryside, at least until they made it as far as New York or Maryland.

• Or maybe here in Pittsburgh, they could resurrect plans to construct the Colossus of Steeltown--the oft-delayed, 1,000-foot high, fully nude sculpture of our beloved Joe straddling the confluence of the Three Rivers. Patterned after one of Jean-Claude Van Damme's famed mid-air splits, Joe's left leg could stretch to Mount Washington, his right to the top of Heinz Field, and his rather optimistically endowed nether regions cast a shadow somewhere over Point Park. Triple X marks the spot.
  

What? Too much? Not enough?

Hey, it's this or I tell you how my Mom, sis, and brother spent the weekend comparing the current crop of presidential and vice presidential contenders to regular cast members and bit players on The Andy Griffith Show.

In short, we concluded that Joe Biden was either dull-as-dishwater civil servant Howard Sprague or possibly community goofball Floyd the Barber. We were more sure about John McCain, who is most definitely inveterate rock-thrower Ernest T. Bass at the moment when Andy and Barney tried to clean up his act and make him presentable to Mayberry society. Suit, tie, improved diction, but still, it didn't take, and he was back to throwing rocks by the end of the episode.

We drew the line, though, when a friend of the family suggested that George Bush was best represented by town drunk, Otis Campbell. We thought that was too extreme a critique--the comparison defames town drunks everywhere.

Hillarity for president

I was at the gym last night (goodness knows I needed to be), in the locker room, getting dressed for my workout and, admittedly, staring at the broad shoulders, strong back, and rather appealing derriere of a guy fresh from the shower, dressing again for the outside world. He of the Perfect Posterior has many other attributes to recommend him--and, I'm sure, a stellar personality to boot--but as this is a family blog, I'll leave the rest of my praise for the pages of the gay male equivalent of the "Forum" section of Penthouse magazine.

You're welcome.

There is a TV in the men's locker room at my gym. A very loud TV, one that hangs from the ceiling or dangles off a wall (as evidenced, I'm not looking upwards much while in the locker room) and is usually blaring a Pittsburgh Steelers game, a Pittsburgh Penguins game, or a Pittsburgh Pirates game. None of which I'm particularly interested in (except maybe the Penguins for some strange reason), and none of which I feel like hanging out in the locker room with a bunch of sweaty, naked guys in order to watch.

Wow, I've really lost the plot in middle age, haven't I?

Anyway.

Last night, though, instead of a game, they were broadcasting another kind of sporting event, the 2008 U.S. presidential election, the coverage of which, if you're been paying attention (and how could you not?), is practically indistinguishable from the play-by-play of the NBA finals or the Superbowl as proffered by ESPN.

A case in point. The news program on air at that moment--some "Smackdown to the White House"-style audiovisual juggernaut hosted by Chris Matthews of Hardball or Vince McMahon of World Wrestling Entertainment--was showing the instant replay of Bill Clinton's gaffe du jour regarding the Missus and the what-was-once- dead-but-has-now-been-resurrected account of Mrs. C's "misremembering" of dodging sniper fire in a flak jacket in Bosnia a decade-and-a-half ago and, as a result, single-handedly bringing an end to the Yugoslav conflict through her steely determination and ability to answer a telephone at 3 in the morning.

As if it weren't bad enough to bring it up again, ol' Bill made things worse by blaming the wife candidate's "error" (an error repeated three times, rather than only once, as Bill Clinton claimed) on Hillary Clinton's age and fatigue.

Now there's a ringing endorsement for your wife's candidacy and her abilities to govern. She makes mistakes because she's a tired, old bag! No wonder I slept with a long line of White Trashy-looking interns, administrative assistants, and Holiday Inn-on-the-Bypass cocktail lounge singers! She's past it! A has-been! A never-was!

Somehow in that moment Bill Clinton made his wife seem less vigorous and more past-her-sell-by-date than John McCain, no easy feat in a youth-obsessed culture such as ours.

I was softly chuckling to myself over this latest Bill blunder, as well as over the lights! camera! drama! approach of the armchair political quarterbacking. Suddenly, Señor Culo Hermoso spoke. (To me, no less.)

"You know, I just don't think Bill Clinton wants his wife to win. I don't think he can stand the thought of her being as successful as him. It's like he has some sort of psychological need to sabotage her campaign. He just can't shut up."

Cute *and* enlightened, I thought.

"I know," I said. "They keep asking whether America can deal with a woman president. The question ought to be whether Bill Clinton can deal with a woman president--or any president who isn't him."

A simple exchange but an odd one, nonetheless. For one thing, it was odd in that the exchange occurred at all, and I was a part of it. I don't necessary find my gym--or Pittsburgh, in general--to be a warm, friendly place where one engages in conversations with strangers, let alone semi-naked ones--or even with fully clothed people you see everyday, if my workplace is any indication.

For another, the moment was odd because I couldn't agree more with Mr. Bum Beautiful's analysis of the situation. At long last, a kindred spirit of bitter cynicism and world-weariness!

Like the guy at the gym, you do just gotta wonder whether Bill really wants Hillary to win. And if she does win, you have to wonder whether her presidency will be her own--or whether it will be all about him, all the time, in every way.

Frankly, I had enough of that back in the '90s. Even though I voted for him twice, he kinda wore out his welcome with me sometime around "It depends what 'is' is," or whatever line he used to try to parse the fact that he was "hot for intern." Like Hillary, I did think there was a "vast, right wing conspiracy" to bring Bill down (see "bitter cynicism and world-weariness" above). Still, he made it so easy. And we all had to sit by and watch him do it, which, weirdly enough, he seemed to enjoy because, well, it was all about him.

* * *

This tangent, however, in no way should indicate that I am against Hillary Clinton being president of the United States, now or at some point in the future. Nonetheless, the counter-tangent to ensue forthwith should not be taken as an endorsement for Hillary Clinton's candidacy either. After much sturm und drang, angst, weltschmerz, and other German-derived concepts of inner and outer turmoil, I have made up my mind who I am voting for in the Pennsylvania primary, now less than two weeks away. Indulge me, however, a little bit longer in keeping my decision to myself--and hedging my bets in case my chosen candidate self-immolates before the primary.

I've never been one of those people who has had strong feelings one way or another about Hillary Clinton. While I won't go so far as to say I love her, I certainly don't hate her, and I am often taken aback by the strong, negative reactions she receives from so many corners. I've heard her described as "unlikeable" so many times, you almost assume it's true.

Nonetheless, I do question the assumption--nay, the conviction--that Hillary Clinton is unlikeable, and thus somehow would make a terrible president, a failure as a leader, or an all-around poor party guest or family relation. I've seen some bitter bile directed toward her over the years, the most recent example being a cartoon (see comic and commentary from March 3, 2008) in the local pseudo-alternative rag, the City Paper, which was practically orgiastic over the thought of Hillary Clinton winning the presidency, so that everyday she would have to work in the same office, sit at the same desk, and stare at the door to the very same alcove where Mr. C and Monica Lewinsky got their freak on while Rome caught fire.

After a few snide and caustic diatribes like that, you can't help but feel a little sorry for Hil. But you can past that and focus on the deeper, twisted psychology at hand. Perhaps it's that some perceive her as a "traitor" to tradition because she is a woman with an unconventional homelife and globe-spanning career aspirations. Perhaps it's the perception that she's somehow deemed a "failure" as a wife and mother because of her uncontrollable alley cat of a husband, who couldn't keep himself from unzipping his pants while on the job.

As retro and bigoted as it all sounds, I think it may be the case, at least in the minds of some in our fair-to-middlin' republic, that somehow these things make her worthy of continual and virulent scorn, as well as an unsuitable candidate for president.

Goodness knows, the job already has a long history of attracting the best and the brightest. By all means, let's not start lowering standards now.

* * *

I feel quite the opposite about Hilary Clinton. Rather than being the stern, humorless taskmistress she is often portrayed, I find her quite funny (she was a cut-up on Saturday Night Live and Ellen DeGeneres, deftly making fun of herself) and even charming at times. I like it when she cackles. At least, she can laugh. At least we know, under all that Reese Witherspoon-in-Election wowserism, there's still a real person underneath. When I think of good times and belly laughs, maybe I don't necessarily think of Hillary Clinton. But then, I don't necessarily think of Barack Obama or John McCain either.

She is obviously very intelligent with a jones for politics and policy. Why shouldn't she run for office? I don't get why this is verboten territory for a woman, especially one who looks far better speaking authoritatively in a tailored suit rather than baking cookies while flouncing around in a pastel-colored headband and Laura Ashley prints.

And, yes, I'd even say she is an experienced leader--although I think she ought to focus on her senatorial career rather than on her years as First Lady/Very Special Vice President in her husband's administration. I do think the latter role did give her familiarity (although perhaps not quite first-had experience) with the workings of Washington and the revolutions and convolutions of geopolitics. However, it wasn't her name on the door (so to speak). Besides, the fewer connections she makes to that husband of hers, the better off she would be.

A stronger statement about qualifications could be made about her career in the U.S. Senate, which has at least been longer than that of Obama. Whether she has more qualitative experience than Obama is debatable, but, say what you will, she certainly has more political credentials than that current occupant of the White House ever did or ever will.

Nonetheless, there is something about Hillary that just never sets quite right with me. It isn't dislike. It's more like disbelief. Incredulity. A certain amount of bemusement, if not outright, well, hilarity. It's that chameleon-like quality of hers, one that makes her a political survivor but one that also never lets you know which of her many multiple personalities you're actually dealing with. I kinda don't trust her. Whenever I hear her speak, which is practically on the hour these days, I keep thinking, "Who is Hillary Clinton, and what does she truly believe in?"

Probably the simplest example of this is changeling persona is when she, a goyische woman born and bred in Chicago with a decidedly Midwestern accent, announced she was running for the U.S. Senate from New York State--and that, oh by the way, she was both part-Jewish and a longtime New York Yankees fan. Not that she was trying to court the New York vote or anything.

Perhaps the most extreme example is when she was on the Tyra Banks Show earlier this year (guess Oprah was booked, hunh?). When Tyra asked her about the whole Monica Lewinsky meshugas, Hilary explained that when she learned of her husband Bill's affair with La Lewinsky, she "never doubted Bill's love for me."

Right on, sister. 'Cause nothing says "I love my wife" like sticking a cigar up a 22-year-old intern's vagina.

It's that sort of thing--that tendency to say anything, do anything, erase any natural part of her being (and wear pastel-colored headbands to boot) in order to get elected--that's what bothers me about Hillary Clinton.

I don't think this makes her a bad person, necessarily, and I certainly don't consider this trait to make her as reviled as she often is. If anything, blaming Hillary Clinton for being willing to fight like a junkyard dog to become president is a bit like saying Bill Clinton will sleep with anything that moves. It's hardly an insult--it's just who they are, Politico and Manwhore. It's their essence.

Nevertheless, given all these somersaults of personality, these cartwheels of conscience, and the fact that she is so eager to return to the political fray after the brutal knockdowns and fierce drag-outs of the '90s, I don't necessarily feel all warm/fuzzy toward her candidacy. I can't help but think that If she's this squirrelly about her life, willing to put herself and her family through four to eight more years of Wagnerian-level insanity, perhaps her judgment is not so sharp after all.

But, hey, the same could be said for all politicians operating at the presidential tier. Seriously, who except a Mach IV-class egomaniac would want the job of president of the U.S.? To me, it just seems like the world's worst migraine of opportunity. But then, I hate managing people, and, oh yeah, let's face it, I just hate people (other than friends and family), period.

* * *

So all this is to say that I'm hesitant to select Hillary as the Democratic nominee and the president. After the last eight years of "extreme nation-building" in the Middle East and laissez faire with-a-vengeance economic policies at home, I'd really like to find a candidate who believes in something other than his or her own ego and over-eagerness. Someone who, in fact, is about something other than winning at all costs.

I suspect I'll have a long wait on my hands trying to find that candidate in this day and age, so I better pick someone.

I think what I've come to realize is that it's not so much the case that I don't want Hillary to be president because of who she is and how she acts. Instead, it's more that I'm not sure I can deal with Bill Clinton for another four to eight years. As I told Herr Golden Glutes at the gym, I voted for him twice but the thought of having him on the scene until 2012 or 2016 is just too much to bear. Unless, of course, Hillary made him Very Special Ambassador to the Republic of Hooters, and he was never heard from again.

I've heard Barack Obama criticize Hillary Clinton, saying that having the Clintons in office again would take the country back to the '90s, a period the Clintons try to tout as some sort of Progressive Era, but one which I remember more for its gridlock and infighting, not to mention its being the live-action version of Trivial Pursuit: Greed Edition.

Meanwhile, the Republicans get all moist in inappropriate places over the Reagan Era, another morally bankrupt age. And some of Obama's supporters can't seem to resist the residual comparisons to those Crusty Old Hits from the '60s, John and Bobby Kennedy, who, I would delicately like to point out HAVE BEEN DEAD FOR FORTY OR MORE YEARS, YOU SIMPERING BABY-BOOMERS.

Me, I'd just like to find a candidate who could deal with the here, the now, and tomorrow; the present and the future. Not one who's stuck in the past, which perhaps wasn't so perfect after all.