State of denial.
Sometimes (ok, most of the time) I wonder what else there is to say. Maybe that explains my disappearance from cyber punditry over the past few months. I'd at least like to think I'm not lazy, and I did new years resolve to post to this thing more often (among a page and a half of other things, which I still adamantly defend as attainable).
The State of the Union hit it home last night. Unlike some others who try to face it with a generous supply of tequila and the SOTU drinking game rules, I swore I wouldn't let Dubya take me any lower. For me, it was the SOTU Pilates Game. Instead of pounding another shot every time he mispronounced 'nuclear' or envoked WMD's, I did another ten leg lifts. By the end, my abs were remarkably firmer, the burning in my muscles distracted me from my disgust, and my heart rate was elevated, at least in part, for reasons other than overwhelming anger. Check another one off that resolution list, and hail the power of multitasking. The state of my bodily core is rapidly improving.
The roundup? More empty platitudes, content that was mostly recycled from previous speeches with a conspicuous absence of bold new proposals, and words about energy policy that might have sounded good back when I trusted. . . ok, so I've never trusted him. Addiction is interesting rhetoric to use, however, especially from a man who seems to have such an intimate relationship with the subject.
The Democratic caucus displayed a glimmer of backbone when they rose to chide the President for the failure of his plan to 'save' social security. But their otherwise disunified and mixed responses—light clapping, confused scowls, eye rolling, and bewildered silence—portrayed them as a party that is anything but ready to rise from its minority-status slumber. Governor Kaine's rebuttal, with its odd pauses, half-hearted repetition ('we can do better!'), and unsettling references to his missionary days, was far too polite and measured to assure anyone of an intent to push for principles in which people actually believe. Forward, fair moderates! Fight! Fight!
I don't want to have to claim allegiance to a party for whom I'm constantly making excuses: it was different in the beginning, I swear; deep down, they have principles; I'm sure they won't do it again. I watch them, scanning constantly for glimpses of hope, any shred of evidence that they might do something of worth. They promise they're going to stop, and then stumble back again with the vapors of acquiescence obvious on their breath. Ever the abused partner, I take them back in.
Leave the only real drama to Cindy Sheehan, booted from the gallery 30 minutes before the speech began.
And so what is there left to say? Actually, now that I get down to it, plenty. But the fact that things are bad only bears repeating so often. The presence of freshman Justice Alito in the front row, still warm from the rigor of his confirmation hearings, is enough to underscore that. The blood pressure rises. But that's why I resolved to do more yoga.
I promise myself, I will jump back into the fray. As much as it hurts, you have to go back and try some more. But I will also garden more. I'm pleased to say that the peas in my back porch garden are thriving.