The most disappointed man in congress

Hoity-toity like The New Yorker, we're calling this a drawing. It is not a cartoon. And it is definitely not political. Mel tells me he is just being sympathetic.

No imagination, no third way!

 Late last night. Tomorrow we vote, those of us that haven’t. (Forty-nine percent of eligible North Carolina voters has, an astounding percentage.) And I remain undecided. Selfishly!

     I was going to vote for Mrs. Clinton. I said as much here. But then it seemed my vote my matter; now it doesn’t: as far as I can tell, she has an insurmountable lead in Virginia. And I am thinking I will want to say before too long that, “Well I didn’t vote for her.” So, for whom? Not – definitely not Mr. Trump; but who? We shall see.

Two roads diverged in a yellow mire . . . .

Election Day, early. I wake up wondering, "What if the vote is closer than I think?" I can always say, I suppose, “I knew that was a mistake [voting for Mrs. Clinton] but . . . .” But what?

     I am always and forever criticizing politicians for choosing the lesser of two evils instead of imagining another way forward. Now, I can’t.

Let’s face it, however: We don’t encourage imagination in our politicians. We don’t say to young men and women, “You have a wonderful imagination – you should go into politics.” We look instead for young “leaders” – kids (elementary school kids, adolescents, college-aged) that like to push other kids around, convince them: “This is the right way to do this; it’s the only way really.” Instead of imagination we value ideology – lack of imagination! – and love of influence. And we expect from these “public servants”? It’s completely illogical, to expect the self-serving to be truly interest in serving others.

     In the meantime, today’s choice – if you can’t imagine a third way, dear Tom: between incompetence and division.

The Disunited States of Reality TV

               Sunt aliquid Manes: letum non omnis finit
                     luridaque . . . effugit umbra rogos. - Sextus Propertius

Many of our friends – our allies – seem to believe it will all be over November 8. The victors will claim their rightful – righteous – spoils. The beaten will dig their holes and crawl into them; they will spend a considerable time licking their

Yes, that'll work.

wounds. Something like peace will reign – as if a season of Survivor had come to an end.

We confidently predict that will not be the case. And all the nasty, ad hominem attacks the righteous have visited and continue to visit upon the wicked will return to haunt them. The mockery will not be forgotten. It never is. Consult your own experience; righteous or wicked, being mocked the hardest thing to let go of.

We predict that our pleading with all to be kind, to love mercy and walk humbly, will not be heeded; more likely it will be hissed at from every side. We know we are crying, “Peace, peace!” where there is none.

So, we can most confidently predict that there will be none. It was bad enough when we were – who coined this phrase? – “the world’s largest banana republic.”* But it is much worse now we have become the Disunited States of Reality TV.

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  * "The shadows remain. Death does not end all;
               a pale ghost slips out of the ashes."  
** No offense to banana republics intended.

Tonight's debate

Tonight’s debate. You don’t need to watch it. Here’s all you need to know in less than one minute. A multi-media presentation! (“Kaf-kaf,” Major Hoople might say.*)

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*

Listening to Paul Ryan

That’s the Paul Ryan,

     who said the first of this week that he would no longer either campaign with or even defend Donald Trump;

     who averred that the election season taken “some dark — sometimes very dark — turns,” but enough about that;

     who wants instead to talk about conservative values: tax breaks for the rich, health insurance for the rich, more guns on the street, more coal in the hopper, fewer people at the polls - in short a brighter tomorrow, for the rich.