Do you think you
could beat me up?
The Letter Parade
For the family and friends of Bonnie Jo
October 2004
The Drinking Girl's Guide to Election 2004
For years, pretty much since I was born, I have been a reasonable person. Though I am not the smartest person you will ever meet, I am plenty smart enough to see the different sides of an argument and weigh them fairly, except maybe when I’m drinking. When drinking, I also profess unbridled love for people about whom in more sober times I feel less passionate. Even drunk, though, I will not indulge the sloppy thinking of some of my fellow drinkers on such subjects as Saddam Hussein having anything to do with the trade towers coming down or tax cuts for the rich being helpful in any significant way for the poor.
I Drink and I Vote
In the past, I have hesitated to express my political opinions. This is not only because the nuance of my opinion changes day to day, depending upon whom I'm drinking with, but because I like to get along with everybody, and some people get upset when you disagree with them. Political disagreement can result in cold stares, fistfights, or even something I would need my Okinawan weapons arts training to defend against. But the time has come for me to throw my support firmly behind the Democratic Party, and I will assist my party's cause by filling in some gaps in their campaign commercials and by providing slogans that the party might print on bumper stickers that will help sway the undecided.
My Other Car is a Donkey
My grandpa was a lifelong liberal, who posted his ACLU membership card outside his door just to annoy the vice presidents in nearby offices. He thought it funny that the ACLU had never issued a card before the Reagan conservatives started using the phrase "card carrying member of the ACLU." For decades my grandpa ran a construction company but never complained about unions, which afforded laborers decent wages. He never begrudged paying taxes, though he begrudged his wife her comfortable shoes, insisting she wear high heels, even to serve him breakfast.
Value Your Democratic Family The Democrats do not always please me. They do not support poor children enough for my liking, and they compromise too much on environmental issues; indeed, the Democrats please me no more than my own family pleases me. And yet my family is my family, and my family is much preferable to (and more interesting, more good-hearted than) the family across the road, where the people are smug and judgmental of my family, which, I'll admit, is a little crazy—e.g., that high heel business. Though my sister might be a hypochondriac and my mother won't quit smoking, and though I suspect my pale older brother might be a vampire, I love them and embrace them fully.
The Democrats actually seem a lot like my family. Bill Clinton could be my charming philandering uncle, the one who I would flirt with at the family reunion, though I am aware that it is unseemly to flirt with one's relatives. Jimmy Carter is my wise grandfather; three generations might be gathered around him at the center picnic table, listening to tales of good works beneath the vinyl awning they bought for poor Rory Kennedy's wedding. As you recall, it was cancelled when John Jr. died in a plane crash en route, and the tent has grown tattered in the years since the sad event.
My Uncles John Kerry and Al Gore might be engaged in a conversation too serious for the occasion, or it would seem so after I'd had a few beers. Hopefully one of the younger generation, little upstart Jennifer Granholm or Barack Obama would squirt Uncle Al with a water pistol, and he would chase the culprit and catch her or him in a fake headlock. We marvel at how Cousin John Edwards seems all grown up. We would all hope that Teresa Heinz would say once again she wanted to be the first African-American first lady (she did grow up in Mozambique); Hillary would help herself to another of my deviled eggs with horseradish and suggest we slip vodka into Teresa's Athena water.
Meanwhile at the Republican barbeque across the road, there is no alcohol and the deviled eggs contain mostly mayonnaise. Rumsfeld is in charge of the grill, and though everybody can see that he's overcooking the chicken breasts, drying them out, there's really no talking to him. He's serving the bratwurst already, though he just put them on with the hot dogs, but when you try to warn him about trichinosis, he takes it as an affront against the pork lobby. John Ashcroft keeps screwing up his face at the belly shirts the young girls are wearing and at Christina Todd Whitman breastfeeding over by the shed, but he keeps looking back for another glimpse. This year they're all relieved they don't have to worry about whom Strom Thurmond is groping. John McCain and Colin Powell drive by the party a few times, unsure they want to attend, then end up taking their fishing poles down to the main stream. They make a private meal with the chips, salsa, and cheese doodles they were bringing to the party.
For Good Deviled Eggs Vote Democratic
I know that I am entirely mainstream, because I talk to people all the time, and usually I come down in the middle of extremes; even my drinking is mainstream--I drink something most days of the week but not very much, and as a rule I don't drive drunk, though I have on occasion, and I should be ashamed, and I am.
Be Mainstream--Vote Democratic The political rhetoric of late has been making normal people nervous. Some mysterious force, or maybe a pollen in the air, is confusing people into thinking they are more conservative than they are in their hearts. They are mistakenly equating conservatism with patriotism, and I'd like to help them relax and get in touch with their true feelings, remind them how much they value the open-minded kind of freedom the world's finest democracy should provide--a terrorist threat does not preclude that! Our nation's flag does not belong to the Republicans. We Democrats may get sad if somebody burns a flag in frustration, but we know there are more flags. And, as I slurred from my barstool just last night, tapping my index finger against my temple, "The real flag is up here."
The political rhetoric from the Republicans makes people forget that it's okay to question our leaders, that it's in fact required of the citizens of a free nation, and when the government embarks upon a big new expensive program that kills people, such as the Iraq war, we especially need to question the decision. Despite the rhetoric about us being free spenders, Democrats are actually cheapskates. We don't mind spending a bit to make sure people are fed, cared for and educated, or to keep us secure, but any hundred billion dollar expense is going to raise our hackles.
Honk if you Question Bush's Moral Authority
Even reasonable citizens feel afraid of speaking their minds nowadays, fearing they might be considered weak or unpatriotic. People seem afraid to say, for instance, that they don't think pot smokers ought to be in prison at a cost of thirty thousand dollars a-piece per year. Drugs may be bad, but taking my money to keep users in jail is really bad.
Another Cheapskate for Kerry And most everybody I know wants to make sure that nobody is going hungry or without a bed in America, even if it means having programs that might be a little wasteful. If we feel confident that there are programs in place to feed, house, and heal people in need then we can shout at panhandlers with impunity, "Go get a job, pal!"
And let's say there's a thirteen year old girl pregnant by her stepfather. Most citizens I've ever been drinking with, whether they profess to being pro-choice or anti-choice, want that girl to be able to get an abortion without any hassle, without her parents' or a judge's permission. Very few Americans really want all abortions outlawed, but abortion rights will begin to deteriorate soon after another Republican Supreme Court judge is appointed, which will happen right away if people vote Republican this election. (Ditto for environmental regulations--bye-bye clean air--preservation of wildlife, and many civil rights we take for granted.)
The Democratic Party, the Reasonable Party! The Democratic Party is not enthusiastic about abortions. We want to avoid them as much as possible, by promoting birth control and the morning-after pill (this is NOT an abortion pill, guys). To anybody who would want to prevent the eighth grader from getting an abortion, I'll say, "Come on! Be reasonable." And if the person does not mellow out and become reasonable, a fistfight might well ensue, or worse.
Most Democrats oppose the death penalty. You can't get more pro-life than not killing folks, I say. Sure the Republicans have shown enthusiastic support for fetal life, and for the rights of a couple of cells to multiply until they amount to something significant. But there are many other kinds of life to consider, and not just all those kids dying of malnutrition and related disorders around the world at the rate of 34,000 per day (U.N. statistic). There are the lives of our soldiers in Iraq. There are the American lives shortened by lack of access to health care. Democrats believe in clean air, which prevents American kids from dying from asthma attacks, and clean water, which prevents us all from dying from mercury and arsenic poisoning. Let's save the lives of those already born by voting Democratic.
Another Democrat for Life
Two significant elements of the U.S. population go largely unacknowledged: the stupid and the evil. Traditionally the Republicans look after the interests of the evil people, while the Democrats look after the interests of the stupid. The Republicans help wickedly ambitious businessmen who move money into offshore tax shelters, while the Democrats are more likely to help the individuals who have blown off one or more digits in a fireworks-related accident.
Vote Stupid, Not Evil We need both the stupid and the evil in our society. Some evil people benefit society when their tax-evading corporations employ stupid people; the stupid keep the economy going by purchasing the unnecessary soon-to-be-obsolete products created by the corporations run by the evil. These days, we Democrats are very concerned about the disenfranchisement of the stupid; corporations that have traditionally employed the stupid have lately been sending jobs abroad to be filled by the desperate.
When the Republicans say they want to privatize social security and allow citizens to make their own decisions about whether to invest in their retirement, it is a direct attack on the stupid, who might well invest in lottery tickets, big screen TVs, or fancy hubcaps that look super cool when the car slows down at stop lights.
Though I consider myself plenty smart, I am more comfortable with the stupid than I am with the evil. When I was growing up there were several big-hearted stupid people in my neighborhood, and more than one stupid person is currently a friend of mine. There were also evil people back home, kids who killed our chickens and made my sister pull down her pants. Even now I don't enter the homes or attend the parties of the evil, though the food at evil parties may well be better than the food at stupid parties. Be assured, I will lay my life on the line for the stupid. And I will vote Democratic.
The issue of Stupid is a complicated one. That T-shirt people used to wear that said "I'm with stupid"? Well, that isn't the half of it. We are all with stupid. Stupid is stealth. We are not allowed to point and assign the term stupid, not at the family reunion, and especially not any during an election season. In a democracy, stupidity must be handled with kid gloves.
I'm with Stupid, and I Vote Democratic The problem is this: though Democratic policies help protect the stupid people from the evil people (say, with workplace safety), the stupid, by their very natures, may be too stupid to see that voting Democratic is in their best interest. So in this election season, I ask that you take a lot of time with your stupid friends, making it really simple for them. Sometimes stupid people absorb the truth better after a few beers or wine coolers.
If you're not sure whether you want to vote stupid or evil, you might click on the links below and compare the photos of Billy Carter and Assistant Secretary of Defense Richard Armitage (scroll down).
There used to be two reasons to vote Republican: fiscal responsibility and a strong military. Nowadays though, Republicans run up bigger deficits than Democrats and make us militarily vulnerable. We at home and our soldiers abroad are less safe than ever.
Nuke the Republicans
And before you decide to vote for a third party candidate, please be sure that your desire for a more inclusive system outweighs the good you might do in protecting the country against the ravages of more Republican-appointed Supreme Court justices.
Admire Nader, Vote Kerry
Don't worry, it's okay to resent the rich, or at least as much as you resent the members of a rival sports team. The rich are different from us, and they like it that way. If they didn't, they would give away their money. The rich choose to be rich every day, never opting to become poor. Horatio Alger aside, most poor folks do not have the option of such a dramatic reversal of fortune.
Hate the Rich Sometimes if a rich person is stupid, he or she can seem sort of like the rest of us, like, say a sports figure or a blonde who married into money. This is why the foolish Bertie Wooster in the P.G. Wodehouse Jeeves stories is so attractive, despite his wealth. I don't know if George W. is really as stupid as he seems, but his seeming stupid makes some people think he is okay. Kerry has the double whammy of being rich AND smart.
So why am I voting for this rich guy John Kerry? Well, just as I will give a chance to a member of the rival sports team who reaches out (say, if he wants to buy me a drink), I see in Kerry's record that he supports programs that help people in trouble, the working poor and other disenfranchised folks. Over the last twenty years in the Senate, he has consistently voted to strengthen environmental legislation. As a relaxed drinker, I can both resent the rich and cut slack to any given rich person, especially one who protects Kirtland Warblers and American winos--after all, many of the latter are war veterans.
I Swerve for the Disenfranchised Some people complain Kerry doesn't seem like a regular guy you'd want to have a beer with. So what? We'll have wine instead, so long as he's buying. It isn't like I’m voting for someone to go to the movies with or to share recipes with, like I do with my very pregnant friend Jamie, who has been depressed since she lost her job and her husband had to take a pay cut a few months ago. Though maybe she's depressed because she hasn't had a drink in the better part of a year.
My resentment of the rich has nothing to do with my support for preserving the inheritance tax (the so called "death tax") on estates valued at more than a million dollars. I agree with what Republican Teddy Roosevelt said in making the case for preserving the inheritance tax: "The man of great wealth owes a particular obligation to the state because he derives special advantages from the mere existence of government."
Tax the Rich In case you haven't been around poor people lately, you may need to be reminded how generous many of them are. Poor people are always feeding everyone (take migrant workers as an example.) When I've mentioned my pregnant friend Jamie's predicament to my not-poor friends, they've nodded their heads sympathetically. When I mentioned it to my mother, she handed me two dozen eggs to give to Jamie. My mother's tenant Mike, who has been waiting ten years to have heart valve surgery because he hasn't had health insurance, stopped me as I was leaving and offered me half a dozen cans of soup.
Even people like most of us, with modest amounts of money, can forget what it's like to really be in need. And in a secular nation like ours, we cannot leave the helping up to churches. As I shouted last night in the Tap Room: "Who will feed the starving atheists?"
We liberals are called bleeding hearts because we go around feeling sorry for people, but in fact, we need to make our compassion more universal. They say you can judge a society by its worst off member, so in our prayers we must remember poor Rush Limbaugh, who must toe the conservative line day after day, five days a week, three hours a day, without respite. It must be exhausting! And then add to that Rush's stress at feeling like a victim of the liberal media. No wonder he abused OxyContin! (The legal system must have felt his pain, because he didn't get in any trouble for the drugs, unlike my sister-in-law who got a felony conviction for one half-tablet of the stuff.)
Be a Compassionate Democrat We Democrats spend so much time trying to ease the burdens of the physically disabled, but what about poor Dick Cheney? Please remember poor morally challenged Dick!
People are saying that terrorism is the most important thing right now. It's us against the terrorists, I say to myself as I bicycle downtown to the credit union. I need to keep reminding myself about terrorism, because otherwise I start thinking of other things, like my friends losing their jobs and Mike with his heart trouble. Terrible Terrorism, I mumble to myself after I talk on the phone to my increasingly frail mother, whose only good arm was disabled this summer by some Indiana policemen who handcuffed her roughly during a routine traffic stop for which no ticket was issued and no report written up. (The other arm has been disabled since birth, and she told the officers as much.)
The Democratic Party--Not as Scary It's us against the terrorists, I say aloud, as I do my dishes, and I force myself to think about the worst-case scenario. What if the Islamists win over there? Those Islamists can be very mean to their citizens, and I'll feel especially bad for those women, who have it bad already. I wish I could give those women all the rights I currently have in America (including the right to drink alcohol!). Man oh man, if Muslims take over Muslim countries, it could be very harsh. Oil would probably get more expensive, too. We in America would have to work hard to figure out how to burn less oil.
Then I think about the other extreme. What if for the sake of fighting terrorists, our society becomes more and more conservative until we are controlled by the far right of the Republican party. After they get done re-introducing the draft (at least for poor people), eliminating most government services, and giving away the national parks to loggers and miners, then they'll be instituting some kind of super-strict Christian laws, which might seriously impact my lifestyle. I mean, when I've been drinking I say "goddamn this" and "goddamn that." I wear very short skirts sometimes and expose my very long legs while I profess my belief in evolution and all kinds of other scientific explanations for physical phenomena. And I've got this idea that pregnant thirteen year olds should have abortions on demand. And then there's my liberal use of birth control, which some pharmacists are now refusing to dispense because of their Christianity! Now that's something to sober a girl up! And I suspect those far right Christians are going to be really mean to my gay and lesbian friends.
As I see it, here's the choice: If you mostly fear crazy Islamists controlling Muslim lands, vote Republican. If you fear crazy Christians controlling your life, vote Democratic.
Some Democratic party members, as well as most of the people around the world, feel that the United States government is too aggressive. I disagree. I want its military forces to be more aggressive. If my government is kicking the asses of the foreign terrorists, then I also want my military available to kick the ass of any corporation that cheats or hurts Americans. I want a military that shows up in force outside the headquarters of a company that just released toxic chemicals into the Kalamazoo River.
Kick Ass--Vote Democratic Within hours of such a release, a U.S. National Guard brigade should march into the building made of tinted glass, storm up the stairs in formation (or in a tall building, they'd travel up in the elevator in neat groups of nine or sixteen), arrest all the executives, take them to interrogation rooms, and make them talk about the toxins. It's wrong to make people get naked and pile on top of each other, but after a few beers, I'm thinking I'd like to see a big old heap of naked executives, each of whom earned more than a million dollars a year; and if you asked me how to stack them, I guess the ones on the bottom would be the ones who demanded pay concessions from the workers on their factory floors or from their stewardesses, or maybe they would be the ones who earned the most money. We Democrats are very forgiving, and so all the executives could put their clothes back on and go home just as soon as their bank accounts and mutual funds were depleted by the amount that it costs to clean up the mess the company has just made.
Many people say they expect corporations to behave in a moral fashion. Forgive me for suggesting any of you are stupid, but that expectation is just plain dumb. Asking a corporation to be moral is like asking natural selection to work in a moral way, to, for instance, favor the nice grasshoppers over the mean ones. Corporations exist to make money. The wonderful side effect of corporations is that they can offer jobs and create products we need. If you want a corporation to behave according to a particular moral principle, then make a law and enforce it. Level the playing field--don't expect corporations to give up profits. Until child labor was outlawed in America, corporations used child labor here, and now most don't. The corporations have not become more moral; the laws changed. And some day we've got to talk about those migrant worker children, who pick a lot of the fruit and vegetables you and I eat.
Democrats the Law
People are always complaining that the government is taking away their rights. Well, I want the government to take away more of my rights. At this very minute I could be wearing clothes made by child labor or slave labor. I do not want to wear clothes made this way, but I also don't want to make my own clothes, and to be honest I can't find any clothes made in America. So I propose that my government take away my right to buy anything made by children or slaves. I want my government to take away my right to breathe foul air and drink poisoned water--they shouldn't even offer me that option. I want the government to take away my right to drive an ATV in the wild areas of our national parks. Please, take away the right of myself and my neighbors to buy lawn mowers that pollute fifty times as much as automobiles. Take away my right to dump my used motor oil on the ground, even on my own land. Take away the right of any child to go without medical care. I will pay higher taxes to have these rights taken away.
Lose Rights--Vote Democratic To be fair, there are some rights that I want back, some laws in my state that I want eliminated. Please give me the right to visit a dental hygienist without seeing a dentist--apparently that's illegal in Michigan. Also give me the right to buy birth control pills over the counter. Oh, and we should be allowed to buy alcohol all day on Sunday; as this election approaches, we are probably going to need it.
So vote early, vote often, and, most importantly, vote Democratic.
Copyright 2004 Bonnie Jo Campbell
So much has gone on around here that I can't hope to catch up. Let's mention the worst news: Kathie Cole of Comstock, who always seemed so big and tough as to be indestructible has died this summer, reportedly as a result of a medicine prescribed for gout. Her beautiful twelve year old daughter Celena said, "She took the medicine and never woke up." Two months later, Kathie's little brother Ed Cole (class of '80 Comstock) has died from drink. His dark-eyed daughters Stormy (8) and Dakota (5) will now live with their mother. A few years ago, the middle child of the three, Karen Cole, passed away of heart failure, and Elmer the father is long dead as is mother Dorothy. Such an institution was that family, with their motorcycles and those big mean dogs that growled and barked at you from the end of chains. I still smell the cocoa butter and marijuana smoke, the incense and spray paint. Farewell Cole family. Comstock will miss you.
News and Notes from Readers Farm news:
The death closest to home was Jenny the donkey, forty years old, mother of many asses, cranky most of her life, at every turn fighting us who loved her, not to mention the farrier. She was a lovely creature nonetheless. Geo rented a backhoe and our small funeral party (including darling Christopher and Matt), interred her behind the new barn. Jenny is survived by her son DonQuixote (donkey-hoatie) and her son's father Jack. Flowers are welcomed, so long as they are edible.
Susanna's new barn is almost built. It has green metal siding, and when you pull in the driveway, the silver roof looks like a sparkling lake beyond the trees. Susanna has had a medically tough year: In June she broke ribs in an asparagus-related accident, then had carpal tunnel surgery, so the weeds in her garden became fantastic. Her new cholesterol drug dropped her bad cholesterol 70 points in a month. She worries that she is becoming a cannibal, however, as the new drug dumps the excess cholesterol into her digestive system. Many wonderful visitors. Most recently we enjoyed the week-long visit of guitarist Andy Cohen, who was driving the Pig Mobile, sponsored by TrueMajority.
Jesse Green writes from Lansing: Unexpectedly today, I found myself trapped in my suburban office park by a surprise visit from the Dick Cheney motorcade. Seems Dick was meeting some 'average folks' here in Lansing, over at Findley's, for lunch. I wonder if they all had motorcades? Anyway, the Interstate and all the main feeder streets on the west side of the city were closed for an extended period of time, interfering with my lunch plans with my lovely wife. So I stopped the car short of the barricades and climbed out to watch the fun. As the police motorcycles rode at full speed, up and down the 5 lane road (like bigger, faster, gun-toting Shriners in a parade), I had an idea. I had a Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker in my car. So I scurried over and grabbed it and ran back to the roadside. As Dick's parade came motoring by, I flashed it at him from about 20 feet away. Childish, yes. But it was oddly very satisfying. I affixed the bumper sticker to the telephone pole I was leaning against. (Some sort of male territorial instinct?) Then I hopped back in my car and drove out the (now police-free) exit of the parking lot. By the time I had circled the hundred feet or so around to the road where Dick had so recently been chauffeured past, the bumper sticker had already been torn down and ripped to shreds on the ground. Somehow I found the evidence of that more-childish, more-territorial act of destruction by some unknown Dick supporter even more satisfying.
From Anne Sjostrom, Australia: I took 6 months off from work to decide whether or not I'm going to move back to CO. So far I've only managed to spend most of the last month traveling around central Queensland. There is an organization here call WWOOF--willing workers on organic farms. In exchange for 3-6 hrs of work, a "wwoofer" can get room and board at a wwoofing host farm. The first place I went to was a 5,000 acre cattle property--a relatively small one compared to the 100,000 acre ones that are scattered through the area. It is a Santa Gertrudis Stud property. I showed up in time for mustering--bulls, cows, and calves. When I first called, the woman asked if I could ride. I said yes, thankful she didn't ask when the last time I rode. A couple of days later she had me up on a 15 hand or so Andalusian. Fortunately, 20 years of not having ridden fell away in a hurry as the horse was ready to go. Afterwards I asked when the last time the horse had been ridden. About a year, was my reply. Managed to get through the mustering and most of the branding and yard work before I broke my nose while trying to shut a gate behind some recalcitrant cows. I've spent the last week or so at a rustic bush camp nestled against a national park that claims to have the largest remaining stretch of rainforest left in Australia. When I showed up, the guy that owns the camp took a look at my face and suggested that I stay a while until the swelling went down and bruises healed.
Heidi Bell writes from Aurora: Adam and I went to the Illinois Railway Museum. The barns where they keep all the old cars and engines feel haunted. Adam and I were both scared for some reason. Some of the cars are in pretty bad shape, ripped up and decrepit inside. There were mannequins inside some of the rehabbed passenger cars, and you'd come up on them unsuspecting and get the shit scared out of you.
Carla Vissers writes from Holland, Michigan: I went to my first ACLU board meeting tonight. It was interesting just to sit back and watch the way people operated. There were a few guys who clearly want to be the alpha males--one lawyer and two CEO's. Linear thinkers. One of them kept using management buzzwords and catch phrases such as "We've got to build our capacity" until I was ready to shoot him in the head. I was amazed by how relatively quiet the women were. Except there was a visito--a young woman from the state office who's just been hired as the Michigan field organizer--and she kept interrupting the blustery men, which was delicious. She was wearing a really cool T-shirt. On the front it had the small ACLU logo, and on the back it showed a posterior view of the Statue of Liberty under the slogan "We've Got Your Back." I gave her twelve bucks and she's going to send me one.
From Tierney Wisniewski, British Columbia: As for us, Chet is still fighting spam and viruses, and I am almost two months into a contract with Nokia (producer of mobile phones). Yes, I have a real job. ;) I'm in Print Certification; we look over the sleeves and user guides of the games that accompany the N-gage (combination handheld game deck and cell phone. Basically, we're proofreaders (who also look over graphics and such). I am still doing karate. Back in May, I tested for my yellow belt in Goju-Ryu. I train with nice folks (www.kuyukai.com). The most unfortunate thing is that we don't do weapons at all until green belt, and then only the bo until black belt. And only once a month. I've poked around looking for a kobudo dojo, but haven't found one in close proximity.
Allen Whipps writes from Grand Rapids: Dinner with Marge Piercy was fun. Somehow the question was raised, "Can a vegatarian use a condom made from sheep intestines?" Neither I nor my second glass of wine, had nothing to do with that downward turn and I vainly attempted to shepherd the conversation to more noble topics. Her presentation was an essay, which was read from notes by an uneven part in thick Elvis-black hair, which was all we could see of her behind the podium. To its credit though, the head did bob responsively in appropriate coordination to points made. Occasionally the open white palm of a gesturing hand appeared from the right side of the podium, like the wave of a magician's assistant from within a magic box, demonstrating vitality before the inevitable intrusion of saw or sword.
Jamie Blake, email from a stressful night in the eighth month of pregnancy: ... I was changing Max's diaper and there were no diapers at the changing table so I had to find a new package in the dark while holding naked Max, hoping he wouldn't pee. Then I had to pee and found myself on the pot, Max alap, and the TP moved out of reach for nose blowing at the sink. Then all of the sippy cups were dirty ...
Art White writes on the topic of automotive encounters (re: last issue of LP): Liz was rear-ended a few months ago, waiting to turn west off north-bound Westnedge, close to home. The lady who hit her was incoherent, from alcohol as it turned out. Liz and she both pulled off to the side of Edgemore to await the police, the DWI parking closer to Westnedge. During the long wait, her car started rolling back into Westnedge. We warned her (I had arrived for support), and she pulled ahead quickly, rear-ending the car parked between hers and ours. (We almost had a two-for-one special, just with our car.) Still no police. I called again, warning that the DWI was becoming a menace, and two cop cars showed up right away. Luckily, no injuries. But it's a little like someone stealing or vandalizing your property: their thoughtless behavior causes inconvenience or worse.
Sonia Lipson writes from Boston: I've had the usual very hectic summer, did two long camping trips including a (female symbol)-Lipson bonding retreat to Catalina Island ... Lately I'm spending time with a confused Air Traffic Controller who lives in New Hampshire. Interesting story--may end soon.
From the phone banks: Lisa Lenzo writes from Fennville: Calling at Kerry headquarters was encouraging. Most people didn't answer their phones (I was calling back people who either hadn't answered yet, or were undecided.) But I spoke with a few Republicans who were undecided, and a few Republicans who are voting for Kerry. Most people were concerned about the economy, the war in Iraq, and health care. One 84-year-old undecided woman was most concerned about her shingles--ouch! A couple of grouchy Bushies hung up on me. I was surprised by how many people I knew through my bus job--either them, their kids, or some other relation. A retired farmer in his seventies who had voted Republican all his life but is now undecided said, a few times, that he can't vote for Bush because, "He's too cocky. He's made us enemies all over the world." He sounded both dismayed and angry. He was also upset about the economy. When I asked him what was keeping him from voting for Kerry, he repeated, as if at a loss, "Because I've voted Republican my whole life."
Writing News: The Center for Great Lakes Culture awarded Rachael Perry’s soul-cleansing debut collection How to Fly the 2004 fiction award from the Center for Great Lakes Culture, saying she explores the lives of the people of the Great Lakes region in sensitive and perceptive ways.” Heidi Bell’s story “Catalog” won the Jane magazine fiction award, and she was a finalist (among 8000 entries) for the Glamour essay contest. And Alicia Conroy just had her collection accepted for publication by Carnegie Mellon Press--more info as it comes available. As for myself, I swear I'm progressing on the next book--why does it take so gosh darn long!? Meanwhile, I got a note that Simon and Schuster is trying to offload some remaining copies of my hardcover Q Road, offering them to me at $4 a pop. If any of you who are my close friends want copies of these for gifts, contact me right away and maybe I'll cut you in on the deal.
Rebecca Barnes writes (well and at length) about her political adventure:
I went to visit my sister in New York City, and when I arrived at Grand Central Station on Friday she surprised me with the news that on Monday we would be going to hear John Kerry speak. At first I was not all that excited, I even made a couple of jokes: That I hoped I wouldn't lapse into a coma out of boredom and that I might have to heckle him due to the incompetence of his campaign staff (I felt they had not fought back effectively to the "Swift Boat Veterans for Truth" attacks.)Like so many Democrats and others disenchanted with the way George W. Bush has been running (ruining?) the country, I knew that I would be voting for John Kerry but I wasn't sure how much I would like him as my president. I was spoiled by having Clinton as my president for eight years and I knew that I might never love like that in politics again. There was no question in my mind that Kerry was very intelligent, competent, and well informed. I also believed that he cared about the same things that I cared about. Still John Kerry had been somewhat of an unknown to most of us. The more I thought about it, the more the opportunity to see and hear him in person began to seem like a gift. Over the course of the weekend, my sister and I became more and more excited. We read through the details of the e-mailed invitation and noted that "respectful" clothing was advised. We speculated as to the nature of respectful clothing. We assumed this meant no belly shirts. As I had traveled into New York with a bag of clothes meant for lazing around my sister's apartment, I wasn't sure I had respectful clothing with me. It was the last days of summer and as to footwear I had brought with me only red sneakers and (ironically) flip flops. Clearly I would be wearing red sneakers. But would red sneakers be respectful? It rained all day Sunday and as I accompanied my sister on errands around Brooklyn I slopped around in my flip flops, and kept an eye out for shoe sales. I was hoping to find a nice pair of sandals half-off or something, but you know how it is when you're looking... We'd be trudging down the street with our umbrellas and I would suddenly grab my sister's arm and point to something in a store window, imploring her to judge, "Do those shoes look respectful to you?"
On Monday morning we arrived in Greenwich Village at 8:00 am, plenty early we thought (the speech was to begin at 9:30 am). So comfortable were we with our early arrival that we stopped at Starbucks and sat down with our coffee. By the time we sauntered over to the Skirball Center at LaGuardia Place the line of students was wrapped around the block. Apparently the e-mailed invitation was for first-come, first-served, for everyone who had RSVP'd (we had), but seating was not guaranteed. Oh, the horror.
We decided to walk up to the front to find out what the situation was. As we approached the head of the line, my sister (who has always enjoyed a certain kind of luck), spotted an acquaintance/friend, and my New York City savvy sister says, "Thanks for saving our place," and we seamlessly stepped into line. Amazingly, the people behind us did not even blink, though they had been waiting for hours.
So, that, my friend, is how we ended up in the first row at the John Kerry speech and how my sister ended up shaking his hand afterwards.
When we entered the lobby area we had to give up our bags to be searched, pass through metal detectors, and then, most exciting of all, walk by the intense scrutiny of Secret Service Agents. I don't know what it is about the Secret Service that makes them so impossibly sexy. The dark suits. The sunglasses. The close shave. The good posture. The fact that they never look you in the eye. The James Bond-like talking into their wristwatches. There's something about them that makes you really want to get their attention, even though you just know it's wrong. That to get their attention, you'd have to do something wrong. Just thinking about it feels illicit.
There were signs that said cameras were forbidden and would be confiscated, but my sister brazenly took out her camera-cell-phone and began to snap pictures the second Kerry took the stage. Unfortunately, none of the photos really came out, even though the podium was no more than 10 or 15 feet from us. The Secret Service guy standing inches from us paid no attention to the woman snapping pictures with her camera-phone. Somehow I managed to overcome my impulse to hand the agent the camera-phone and ask him to snap our photo. I guess I expected speeches or remarks before Kerry came out to speak, like at the convention. But after just a couple of nice words by the Dean of the school, Kerry was introduced to the standing-room-only crowd of more than 800 people (an additional 200 people packed a nearby auditorium to watch a simulcast of the address.) They just announced his name, and he walked right out with no balloons, no confetti. There were some seats on the stage, on either side of the podium, where they had different groups of people represented. There were some veterans, even a couple of elderly veterans, from WWII. There were some college students (some of whom, in my opinion, were not dressed respectfully whatsoever). There were representatives from the Fire Fighters for Kerry wearing bright yellow sweatshirts. In a row of chairs to Kerry's right sat a group of three or four women known collectively as the "9/11 Wives". I'm sure you've heard and/or seen these women: suburban moms who lost their husbands at the World Trade Center on 9/11. Kerry introduced them as "a remarkable group of women." They are largely responsible for the creation of the 9/11 Commission and it turns out that these women ran into so much resistance from the Bush team on the 9/11 investigation that a couple of weeks ago, they endorsed Kerry for president.
I'm sending you the link to the speech itself so I won't repeat what Kerry said, so much as what kind of impression I had of him. First of all, when he walked out on the stage, I was struck by how nice he looked. I know it should be irrelevant when you're voting for a president, but I always thought he was kind of funny-looking, with that long chin and all. But he's very handsome and charismatic when you see him in person. Remember, we were in the front row. Of course, you know he's very tall, but in person, he seems very graceful, lean and very comfortable with himself. He just looked very healthy and attractive.
I don't know what people are talking about when they say that his sentences are too long, I thought his sentences were just fine. John Kerry is a terrific speaker. He has great command of the English language. Unlike the speeches I've seen George W. Bush deliver during this campaign, John Kerry was capable of critiquing his opponent without making fun of him, without resorting to making childish faces and without repeating sound bite applause lines for laughs. For an hour and a half or so, John Kerry spoke in detail about the war in Iraq. He made a great deal of sense. He spoke with conviction, and I felt bad that I had not gotten behind his campaign with more enthusiasm earlier. The people in the hall sitting around me were sort of saying/asking each other the same thing, "Has he always been this great or is it something to do with the momentum of the campaign, or is he always more compelling in person or what??"
I found John Kerry to be confident without being arrogant (like George W. Bush); thoughtful without being "Academic" (like Al Gore...) and human without being a girlie-man. Okay, he's no Bill Clinton, but even sometimes Bill Clinton was no Bill Clinton.
Well, that's my story. When I got home on Monday night C-SPAN was showing a recording of the speech I saw that day and sure enough, at the end of it you can see my sister shaking John Kerry's hand. It wasn't one of those meet and greet things, he only shook maybe five people's hands near where we were seated, so it seemed very special. We really owe her friend for allowing us to cut the line; it's hard to know what to get someone who helps you cut the line to allow you to shake the hand of maybe the next President of the United States. It ought to be something respectful. The speech is at: http://www.johnkerry.com/pressroom/speeches/spc_2004_0920html
This newsletter is the third of 2004, following “Encounters with Authorities.” I’d like to thank Rebecca Barnes and Heidi Bell for their kind words and special assistance with this issue. Donkey photo by Christopher Magson. Please send news and notes to Bonnie Jo Campbell, PO Box 52, Comstock MI 49041 or bonniejo@iserv.net. Copyright 2004 Bonnie Jo Campbell
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