*CRIPES: A purely Wisconsin term that is used in lieu of being blasphemous. I really don’t use it as often as I should.
I don’t like discussing politics because it’s pretty pointless. It’s a bit like discussing food:
“Hi, I like broccoli but I don’t like cauliflower.”
“How can you possibly LIKE broccoli! It’s green! Cauliflower is so much better.”
“I just don’t like cauliflower. But broccoli tastes pretty good, especially with some butter and basil.”
“Well, you’re stupid.”
“I, uh, yeah…OooooooK.”
I guess what I’m saying is, politicians are exactly like broccoli and cauliflower: Vegetables that kids don’t like to eat. And I’m voting for broccoli this year. (with butter and a dash of basil). This is actually the 2nd time in my life that I’ll be headed to the polls. The first time was 4 years ago. Before then, I couldn’t be assed. But then 2003 happened, and 2003 was really bad. Before 2003 when someone gave me crap for not voting and pulled the “well then you can’t complain” line, I’d say to them, “I’m not complaining. I don’t care. Until something happens to me in my own backyard I’ll let the people who are educated about politics vote for me.” While incredibly dim, the philosophy worked for me. Then…2003. I don’t know if I will ever not vote again.
Andrea was one of those people who used to give me hard time about not voting. Andrea is an incredibly intelligent, well informed, highly educated person. You’d think with those credentials she’d be a pain in the ass, but she’s surprisingly easy going. She’s also very liberal so it wasn’t with much shock to get her invite to the Obama campaign party via Facebook** a few weeks back. I emailed back pretty swiftly that I would be attending but that I didn’t think Kevin would be interested. Surrounded by a room full of liberals, as it was sure to be, Kevin might have broken out into hives. He has sensitive skin you know.
**Always wanting to build up my collection of friends, if you’re on Facebook, send me an email to the account right there and I’ll send you a friend invite. HA! Build up my collection of friends. Like I’m storing you all in a curio cabinet in the garage. That would just be creepy. It’s a filing cabinet so I don’t have to look at your puppy dog eyes pleading with me to let you out every time I go in there to get my bike.
So yes! The party. I honestly didn’t know what to expect but it turned out a lot better than I had thought. I was thinking there would be a bunch of people talking candidates and initiatives and debates and propositions and a bunch of other stuff that I really don’t know that much about, but it wasn’t like that. Honestly, the most political conversation I got into was how to sneak an Obama\Biden bumper sticker on Kevin’s car without him knowing it (Andrea’s idea by the way). The party was at Jimmy and Siobhain’s beautiful house in Huntington Beach. Everyone pretty much hung out around the pool, drinking beer and eating the food prepared by the caterers (which was mostly food on a stick…you can’t go wrong with food on a stick). Oh, the pool…great pool. Not so great on my hair. It’s the humidity you know. I was afro-city in less than 15 minutes. Of course I didn’t realize I was afro-city until I went into the bathroom. And this, of course, was just after I made the comment to Andrea’s mother, “I don’t want Oliver to touch my hair, I just spent an hour doing it.” After the bathroom trip, “Go ahead Oliver, touch away.” By this time Oliver had lost interest in touching my hair but wanted to simultaneously cut off my head while shooting me with a gun. Ah, kids.
"I will close my eyes for 10 seconds. If you are still taking my picture when I open them, I will cut off your head, shoot you dead, and cut off that afro-city do! Heeee Heeeee"
Speaking of which and this story is going to be a ‘had to be there’ tale (but dammit, I’m writing it down here so I don’t forget it), Jim and Siobhain had ordered these cupcakes that had the faces of Obama and Biden on them. The kids at the party, intermittently between trying to cut off heads and start a pillow fights, would sit on the kitchen stools just drooling over these cupcakes. I don’t have to tell you that they couldn’t care less if a smiling bear or Obama’s toenail was depicted on the frosting, they just wanted the damn sugar. After hours of waiting, the caterers were given the go ahead to bring out the cupcakes. The kids swarmed the poor man in the bow tie. Four of the kids, all under the age of five, had just grabbed their sweets when Siobhain came out with her camera. “Line up! I want to get a picture!” These poor kids are looking at Siobhain with death in their eyes; two of them had their little pink tongues reaching out to just get that first taste of frosting. “Line up!” she says again. So the kids line up. Each have their cupcakes less than 2 inches from their mouths. “Say OBAMA!” she says. Each of these little kids, each grabbing on to their cupcake like it was the last food on earth (one with bright red curls) look up to Siobhain and say with all the malice and grumble that a child can muster “ooobama.” *CLICK!* As soon as the flash went off, 4 Obama heads depicted in frosting were gone. I laughed so hard the people standing next to me asked me if I was alright.
Oliver will vote for anyone that has cupcakes.And that was the party in a nutshell. I talked to a lot of nice people. I bought a $20 Obama t-shirt for the cause (which when I got home and put it on, Kevin claimed burnt his skin if it touched him) (no hugs for you buddy). I laughed at children. I had a good time.
Go Broccoli!
