Pissed

Everyone's pissed. The Republicans are rolling out a template of candidates who promise to put God in their cabinets. The Democrats thought they'd already elected God and are vexed he isn't doing more smiting. The Buick of State is up on blocks and not moving at all, now that the Rs have taken all the wheels off, and the Ds can't figure out why the president isn't at least leaning on the horn. The president isn't blowing the horn because horn-blowing isn't an option for him. If he's pissed too, no one will ever know.

That option was taken away from him right off the bat. When Obama got elected, riding a tide of hope and joy, he presented a problem. As an attractive man with wide and fervent support, he seemed likely to thwart the Republicans' foremost goal, which was to reign forever and ever, amen. Something had to be done. The Republican brain trust got right to work. The most obvious defamation, that the president was a colored guy, was problematic. An entire oblique vocabulary would have to be employed to point it out; worse, some people might not even find it all that defamatory. Ultimately, they resorted to pure invention, building on the observation that, at the least, Obama's father was a colored guy, and foreign, and had a funny name, and probably associated with an unapproved version of God. From there it was a quick leap to the notion that the president had sprung full-grown from a planted alien pod and was attempting to destroy America from within by inflicting Socialism on it, which is their word for government for the people, as opposed to government for the people who have all of the money. And besides all that, he was still colored. They couldn't come right out and say it, but it was their ace in the hole, and there were other ways to get the point across. Michele Bachmann couldn't say it, because she, along with her husband, is a lady, but she could and did say he presided over a gangsta government. Michele is a subtle gal.

So Obama has his principles, which is why he still allows himself to be photographed playing basketball instead of wearing plus-fours on the croquet court, but he must never, ever, appear to be pissed. No matter how he is provoked, he must remain unperturbed. He is in the odd position of being too black for some and insufficiently black for others, but he cannot display so much as a snit, or the deal is sealed. He blows his top and it's all over. Michele Bachmann might as well just start referring to his "crack-ho economic plan" if he does that. So the Republicans and their propaganda wing have been poking sharp sticks at him for three years now. Occasionally a camera catches him in a momentary sun-squint and the photo is sieved for signs of irritability through three news cycles, but the Republicans might have to admit they misjudged his actual heritage. They are dealing with a man who came from a white mother and a Vulcan father.

It's the Nixon-goes-to-China thing. (Thanks for that, by the way, Dick.) No one but an ardent anti-Communist could have gotten away with opening up trade with a Communist country. In this country, you're not allowed to accomplish what you want, but sometimes you can do what no one expects of you. Obama can't act peeved, but Mitt Romney could fling himself down and have a tantrum in the grocery aisle, and be praised for unanticipated passion.

Some Democrats think Hillary Clinton could have accomplished more, but she would have been thwarted too. Any woman in that position would have had to whomp up a war so as not to appear too feminine, except not during her period, when it would just look bitchy. The only person who could get away with introducing real socialism would be Donald Trump. Myself, I want a president who will value education, make decisions based on sound science, institute a steeply progressive tax structure, and get serious about global warming.

I'm voting for Rick Perry.

Somewhere over there on the left you'll see an invitation to follow me on Twitter. It's not a very shiny button, but that's only appropriate. I barely know how to twit. Tweet. Whatever. But someday I will, and it might be funny. If you sign up real quick, you can be my fourth whole follower.

I Do Care. Just Not About, You Know, That.

We seem to be getting near the end of the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy in our military. Already over ten thousand soldiers have been let go for admitting they're homosexual, and every one of them was fluent in Farsi. It's gotten to the point that when someone even looks like he's about to say he's gay, the military jams its epaulets in its ears and goes "La, la, la, la." So everyone is on board with unloading this policy. Unfortunately, it was put in place with no sunset clause, and the bureaucracy is loathe to get rid of something it might need somewhere else. So I propose a transfer. Let's just move "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" to the arena of political discourse. We can change it to "Don't Know, Don't Care."

Politicians are frequently accused of being sanctimonious, but they're just representing their sanctimonious constituency. Talk to anyone of voting age for long enough and you're liable to hear something along the lines of "I really don't care if he was caught in a three-way in the church parking lot with Mel Gibson and an underage burro; what matters is he lied about it." Let me stipulate right here that everyone involved in Burrogate is going to lie about it. There are certain things everyone lies about. We should just assume that if someone is asked about his sex life, he's going to lie. I'm going to lie. You're going to lie. If there's nothing much to talk about, we're going to lie about that. So unless our politician is running for director of the petting zoo, let's call such questions off limits. Let's not ask. It's fine to hold politicians to high standards, but let's keep the questions germane.

And perhaps, as much as we all enjoy taking a dip in the sea of piety, we might settle for allowing Barack Obama to be a role model by striding on the world stage like a grown-up and not insist that he also quit sneaking cigarettes. I've never had that particular monkey on my back, but it's easy enough to observe that it's a monkey with a lot of cling to it. People spend years trying to buck it off, but most of them have not had to report "I went five days without a cigarette, and then North Korea fired a long-range missile at Hawaii." Cut the man a break. Likewise, anything that has ever gone on under the desk in the Oval Office is nothing I need to know about. This is strictly a matter between the current occupant and the cleaning staff.

Let's just ask the questions that matter. "We're all behind you on this swell war you've got in mind, Mr. President. Where are you getting the cash?" Or, "Senator, could you elaborate on your personal financial stake in the tropical fish hatchery being proposed for northern Greenland?" Stuff like that.