That comment took me back to a conversation that took place at our house over the winter holidays when my son and a friend of his from high school came to hang out with the 'rents for a while.
Oh, what a laugh. I'm 24. I'll be around a while yet. I do suppose this revelation opens me up to a different brand of condescension, though—not that I'm especially sensitive just now, as you've no doubt noticed from the tenor of my comments.
Yes, I'm mad. As mad as you or anybody. I don't give a shit about the Clintons. You won't catch me tirelessly and earnestly defending them; it's not my job. My job as a Democratic cog is to show up in November and vote, in the hopes of maybe, just maybe, putting the brakes on this bus we're all riding before it careens over the cliff.
I'm a cynical little cog, for sure. Why shouldn't I be? I'll vote for Clinton or Obama, but neither of them is going to take me in. When they betray the principles they purport to espouse, be it in office or on the campaign trail, I won't be surprised.
Just angry. And realistic about my place in the world. Where else am I to turn? So I'll pull the lever. I'll fume on a blog. The world goes on.
I will reiterate: I'm not voting to change the world, and I believe—because we're just down to a matter of opinion, after all—that anybody voting to change the world isn't long for the political process. I'm just voting to put the brakes on, and I wish to god people would get real about this.Posted by: jesus on March 12, 2008 at 12:41 PM | PERMALINK
As is generally the case when I am in the room, the talk turned to politics, and specifically what method of public execution should be employed for Bush and Cheney once they have received their due process...then K., our son's best friend, said "Yeah, I'm pissed off, and hell yeah, I'm going to vote, and sure as hell not for a Republican, ever. But what happened in 2000, when we were seniors, that changed everything and made us cynical? Maybe an election was stolen and with it our future?"
I looked at him and for the first time since I met him, I didn't see a fifteen year old kid. I saw a man. It was shocking. It shouldn't have been, since I watched him bulk up to man-size while his ass was sticking out of my refrigerator, but it was none the less. I had the distinct feeling that if someone didn't make a fart joke soon, I was going to go white-haired right there on the spot. Thank goodness they started talking about Fables and Jabberwocks and vorpal blades and comeuppances coming.