Snapshots

Sitting cross legged in front of the TV at preschool I watched Reagan take the presidential oath in 1980. I remember that he was on instead of Sesame Street and that my parents thought he was an awful choice even though my preschool teaches were besotted. My dad was in his bomb shelter planning phase and my mom was pregnant with my brother. I remember it as a series of snapshots, all of them yellowed and grainy, wedged in a box since the day they were taken.

This morning most of the estimated 7,000 people at Santa Barbara City College were taking snapshots of Barack Obama and I wished I would have thought to bring my camera. The morning was memorable; several times his speech gave me goose bumps. I don’t know how to recount what he said because hours later much of it is already a blur. But I do know that I liked him, liked his ideas on campaign financing, and felt he was capable of leading our country. There was a moment when he mentioned closing Guantanamo Bay and I turned to one of the women who was with me and said in my hushed satirical voice, “Seriously? I just finished shooting in the golf course there. That was a lot of work!” Immediately, four guys in matching flip flops and Cal Tech Biodiesel t-shirts spun on their heels and glared at me. It was funny but I didn’t laugh -- that golf course really was a lot of work. At the end of Obama’s speech the biodiesel contingent checked back in with me to see if I was cheering like everyone else or if I was truly a renegade heckler. I wanted to tell them, “I’ve already voted for him. He’s a senator because of people like me. You should thank me.” But of course I didn’t. I just ignored them.

I am the Proletariat

Sitting at my laptop I’m surrounded by several pairs of knitting needles, yarn, buttons, ribbon, beer, dark chocolate with hazelnuts, and a pair of oft-worn silicone bra inserts; it’s a fair collage of my current state. I bought the inserts for an especially horrid bridesmaid dress, that even with modest alteration I couldn’t fill out, and at the prompting of friends have made them a regular part of my civilian persona. I’ll wear them tomorrow when I make the drive to Santa Barbara to meet my Senator from Illinois. He’s having a rally. I’ve voted for him a couple of times, bought his book but never read it, and am excited to see him in the flesh even though I’m not convinced he should be my president. My traveling companions are two of the most unlikely women I could think of -- one is a disaffected misanthrope who, now that she is out of the Navy, works in the tool rental room at Home Depot where she’s having problems because the men who work there think her mouth is a little too foul. And then there’s her partner in crime -- a loud, alcoholic, and sexually promiscuous woman who wears full makeup, including a heavy helping of bronzer, to work every day. Unlike a casting call, full makeup is suspect in a construction battalion. But they’re both excited to go, and that excites me, because I deeply wish that more people were involved in the political process.

My husband has no faith in the proletariat, a view he shares with most of our founding fathers, men who were astonishing minds, and so I curb my reservation when he rattles off his diatribe on inequality (to be fair, he calls it realism). He wishes only the intelligentsia were allowed to vote and waxes poetic for a philosopher king. I suspect that owning a pair of oft-worn silicone bra inserts might exclude a woman from the intelligentsia. It’s just a hunch.

Because I believe that being human makes us equal, and because I know that drawing an honest line around bra inserts, or anything else, is impossible, I want every eligible person in this country to vote.

Tomorrow should be fun: good weather, great city, a young and handsome presidential candidate, and the company of two naturally busty women who have never voted.

And the Winner Was

Before I left, I had no clue. Now I’m back and it’s nothing more than a hot, dry, dirty dream.

Neither of my crush candidates panned out. Advocate was an ass hole; every one of us was hot, exhausted, and uncomfortable and he refused to buck up. And Gentleman turned out to be a bit of a wimp, which is excusable, but not when when married with muddled thought and confused priorities. For a brief moment I thought Dry Wit might get my attention, but we only crossed paths once, at it wasn’t enough to cement him in my psyche. A day later Refreshingly Different started turning in work to me, and I liked him almost as much as his robust Excel skills, but something was lacking. And then there was Makes Me Laugh No Matter What. He kept me smiling when I was in the throws of doubt and frustration. I was so thankful that I tried to make him my crush because it seemed an appropriate reward. It worked but only for a day or two; for whatever reason he didn’t have staying power. In the end the man who captured my subtle affection was Powerful And Quietly Observant. He’s the new Alfa Company master chief and he spent most of his time sitting on a box and listening. When something suspect came to my desk I would seek eye contact with him and he always met my gaze and would cue me with subtle body language. His presence was reassuring. He is balanced and innately understands the true severity of a situation. Those are rare gifts. I respect him.