Anderson Cooper, be still my heart.
Kids, if you didn’t see the Democratic Debates courtesy of You Tube and CNN, you missed the single most human thing to happen to politics since Old Bush said howdy to the Prime Minister of Japan by projectile vomiting.
Regular Americans and not so regular Americans alike grabbed their video cameras and via You Tube, asked a panel of Democratic hopefuls questions that came straight from our collective curiosity. Mr. Man and I sat with our mouths open staring at the TV, fully aware that we were witnesses to history in the making. We broke the stunned silence in the living room only occasionally with our brand of brief, albeit highly intelligent commentary.
“Shut the hell up! Did he really just say he was all for health care for undocumented workers because he doesn’t want them infecting the rest of us?”
Oh it was good stuff.
In much the same way Little Billy Clinton admitted he had smoked pot but never inhaled, I must admit I was once a Republican. However to the best of my recollection, I never started a war because someone pissed off my Daddy.
If I had, there would be lots and lots of wars. Actually, I’d have to bomb myself like a billion times and all my ex-boyfriends, husbands and my Mother would already have been blown to smithereens.
I loved being a Republican. It made me feel powerful, like that dorky kid of questionable intelligence who loves nothing more than watching ants catch fire under the big magnifying glass he stole from an even dorkier exchange student.
But, after 9-11 and hurricane waters and a war some of my friends were bound to fight, I began to think maybe I was playing for the wrong team. So, I did that which would cause Ann Coulter to spontaneously combust. I took a deep breath, held a super secret and completely pointless ceremony and declared myself a Democrat.
Imagine my delight this evening when my brand new party stood before our country and acted sort of half way like real people. Sort of.
Questions from citizen journalists, questions I myself wanted to ask, came one after the other. Candidates had no time to think it over or have a team of political spin doctors decide how best to answer. Would you do your job for minimum wage? What about gay marriage? What are you personally doing about global warming? Have you talked to your kids about sex and if so, did you call your dangle a pee-pee or a penis?
Even more interesting than the questions sometimes were the candidates themselves. The former Sen. Mike Gravel (Alaska) was angry about pretty much everything. He put me in mind of an old boss I used to have who would scream at you if the Coca-Cola he asked you to bring him wasn’t served on a tray with a napkin folded perfectly in half. I felt I should phone a hotline and tell them to do a welfare check on his wife.
Joe Biden insulted a YouTube guy who referred to his giant gun as his baby by saying he was probably too insane to even own a gun. After realizing that he had just publicly talked smack on a dude who possessed the ability to shoot him in the head from a tremendous distance, he told Anderson Cooper that he hoped the guy wouldn’t shoot him.
I thought that was smart. Nothing appeases a crazy, gun-toting person like insulting them again.
But probably my favorite moment as a virgin Democrat came when John Edwards was asked to say something he liked about Hillary Clinton and something he didn’t like about her. Who remembers what he liked. It was probably something about her ability to effectively stifle her late night sobs while her husband played Hail to the Chief with White House interns. What he didn’t like however was what she was wearing. “I don’t know about that jacket.”
For those of you that don’t speak North Carolina, allow me to translate. “Although I am a straight man who opposes gay marriage because of my religious beliefs even though I swear my religious beliefs will not influence my presidential policy, I used to watch a lot of Queer Eye and I try to live my life each day by asking myself in every situation, WWCD. What would Carson do?”
Oh, John. Damn your passion for fashion.
Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
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