I haven’t written in a while. And I guess it’s because I’m just ready for this race to be over, this recession to begin, or both, or either. But this uncertainty is disconcerting and without knowing anything, it’s really tough to write something. It’s like writing below a limbo stick, uncomfortable, uneasy, and tough on my back.
And Gavin may be nimble, and Gavin may be quick, but Gavin need a candlestick, to see some light all around this limbo world. (It’s fun not having an editor.)
For example: You know how you all have your finance friends. And you’d always ask them, “I know you work in finance, but what, exactly, do you do?” And then they’d say something about junk bonds, and analyzing profit margins, and blah blah blah, and you’d say, “Yeah, but what do you like, actually do?”
Well, now I’m starting to think we were right. They really didn’t do anything. They worked with numbers and figures, pluses minuses, pis, charts, graphs, reports, but really they weren’t doing anything. They were just tossing some funny money around. (Snicker away, you Masters of the Universe)
You hear these sums. 700 billion, 115 billion, 250 billion…what the fuck does that mean? If we’ve got that much money, what’s the problem? That doesn’t sound like a crisis; that sounds like Scrooge McDuck’s pool. That sounds like were rich as golden shit. If we can raise 700 billion dollar’s with the snap of a finger and a week of debate, then hell, shouldn’t we be celebrating? Why not go bigger? Let’s raise 700 billion billion dollars next week if it’s that easy.
This whole financial crisis brings us right back to the conversation with our banker friend. “So what, exactly, is this financial crisis.” “Well, subprime mortgage, credit crunch, Bank of Iceland, capital gains.” “Wait, but what exactly is this financial crisis.” “Nevermind, you wouldn’t get it just be very scared.” “Okay.”
How am I going to write about something the experts don’t understand? (Meanwhile, on a digression, how come experts never agree? Is that a thing? Once you get your expert degree you’re not allowed to share the same opinion as anyone else? God forbid they put two experts on in split-screen and one says, “you know, good call.”)
Then there’s The Amazing Race. Which has become one of those reality shows where you know which one you like, you know which one should win, and you just hope to God that the producers don’t try to shock you in the last episode with a surprise ending. What do you mean Brett picked her, he had so much chemistry with the other one all season long? (Note to the writers of the superscript, we don’t need a twist.)
And don’t get me wrong. I’m not sick of Barack, I’m sick of Wolf Blitzer. I’m sick of William Ayers, I’m sick of the Keating 5 (was that a purposeful Family Ties joke?). I’m sick of the debates, I’m sick of the rallies, I’m sick of the headlines, and above all else, above all fucking else, I am sick of the fucking polls.
What good does a poll do? Can anyone answer that? According to today’s poll, Obama is up 5 points. Uh-oh, according to today’s poll, Obama is up 3 points. What the hell happened last night? People had a nightmare about Obama eating their children, woke up in a sweat, and called Gallup. Every day a new poll. You know which poll matters. None. Not a single one. A vote matters; a poll is just a waste of numbers.
And the funny thing is. The truly hilarious thing is that after 2 years of campaigning, racing, stumping, conventioning the only thing that still matters is whether people are going to get behind that curtain and pull a lever for a man named Barack Obama. That hasn’t changed since Day 1, and that won’t change on Election Day. So let’s end all this empty talk already and see if a rose is a rose. And if this country can finally be cool again. (Yes, cool. Do you remember that? It used to actually be cool to be from America. No joke. Check your history books.)
Anyway, I apologize for not having written in a while, and I apologize for coming back with an unabashed angry rant. But, as I said, I haven’t written cause I’m not sure, and now I have. And I’m still not.
Oh, also, I did write a whole piece on how I hope Sara Palin gets raped and has to give birth to the devil’s spawn, like in Rosemary’s Baby, but after conferring with a few wise women, I elected not to post it.
