Observations of a Misfit

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February 25, 2008

Obamavangelist

UPDATE: In regard to Obama's middle name, I think the Obama campaign should make a pun of it:

Who's Sayin' Obama? We're Sayin' Obama!

Long time readers know that when I get involved in a cause, I invest fully. For me, it's all or nothing; although in the case of the current (seemingly endless) presidential primary campaign, it was much easier for me to express what I didn't like than what I favored.

Not anymore.

Six months ago, if you had told me that Senator Barack Obama would be the frontrunner or, gasp, even the presumptive Democratic presidential candidate by late February, I would have disregarded your idea as preposterous. I was an unbeliever, disillusioned almost completely that any real change could occur after the Democrats' majority win in November (for which I stayed up watching the returns on television until the wee hours) proved to be impotent and irrelevant. What faith could I have in another Democratic candidate? What faith could I have in the American people after five, six years of their chronic apathy?

Oh, me of little faith.

Obama snuck up on me, slowly winning me over with his idealism, his sincerity, his well-crafted (and often original) speeches delivered in an artful rhythmic cadence that flawlessly lent itself to music, that inspired hope, wonder, optimism; a message that inspired art.

As a writer, he knows words matter. Of course words matter. Wasn't it written "In the beginning was the Word?" We know as students of history that words become actions that change the world. The energy upon which the Obama wave is riding is unstoppable now. Not because it's based on false hope or vainglorious chimera, but because it's based on desire: a nearly universal need for change.

At a Clinton rally in Youngstown recently, one of the union presidents had this to say about the Obama supporters:

"Give me a break! I've got news for all the latte-drinking, Prius- driving, Birkenstock-wearing, trust fund babies crowding in to hear him speak! This guy won't last a round against the Republican attack machine. He's a poet, not a fighter."

Funny thing, I have only ever had a latte twice in my life, and both this month. I enjoyed a cinnamon dulce latte to warm up at lunch during one of the several very cold days we had recently. I prefer my coffee unsweetened and without cream. For the record, I have never owned a pair of Birkenstocks and may not even recognize them if I see them (versus a knockoff), and I am only slightly ashamed (but not terribly) that I know nothing of popular culture beyond Disney, and would not know an American Idol from Billy Idol. I would like to have a hybrid car someday, but I believe it is even more economical to keep the car I own for as long as possible.

I'm sure I share that misfit demographic with many an Obamavangelist, a Clinton supporter or a few million Republicans.

After seven-plus years of bloody war, I guess it never occurred to the Clinton Camp that a poet is just what we need right now. And what good has all this so-called "experience" brought us? How much experience do the current Senators and Congresspersons in Washington collectively claim? What have they accomplished? Frankly, I think most of the "experienced" members of Congress should be fired. Adios. Out of the pool.

Ralph Nader announced his candidacy yesterday like a fallen satellite. Why? Who’s behind this nonsense? I’m the FIRST person in line to promote a third party candidacy, a viable third party or fourth party. I have been a big advocate of multi-parties since I was but a junior political scientist back in 1984. But, now? What good does a third party candidacy, designed to ultimately take votes from the Democrats, serve at this point?.

In some ways, Obama's is a third party. Hillary represents the weak, capitulating, spineless Democrats, McCain the losing Republicans and the Old Guard (good riddance), and Obama the clean slate of a new progressive party.

Can we change Washington? I've been telling you for years that you have all the power. I'm volunteering to get out the vote here in Ohio next week. Do your part.

February 07, 2008

I Walk, Therefore I Skate - Redux

The first time I went ice-skating I was four years old, wore double-runner white figure skates, and wobbled and slipped on a frozen pond, its texture similar to the surface of the moon. My parents, both superb skaters, knew what they were doing. By putting me on slow, high friction ice dotted with clumps of tall weeds and the occasional stone, they ensured I would develop my skating feet, work the muscle groups a little harder, and avoid falling as often. To introduce a novice skater to the slick, unforgiving finish of an indoor ice rink is akin to pushing a non-swimmer in the deep end of the pool.

On the west side of Cleveland during that era, virtually everyone I knew ice-skated. By age five or six most of us had graduated to standard figure skates and longed for the day when we would receive, either from hand-me-downs or new (gasp), a pair of hockey skates with their supple, saddle leather boots and razor sharp blades. For some unexplained regional prejudice, white figure skates were solely acceptable on girls who were training in figure skating, and were otherwise considered uncouth. Those poor girls who wore them were ridiculed or shunned, and sometimes rudely showered with a cloud of ice from those of us who could raise a wave of it with a “hockey stop.”

Figure skating in general was not very popular at the time, which explains why, although one was fitted for ice skates shortly after booties, there were no champion figure skaters from this area. Hockey was the preferred sport. Most of the regional high schools supported a team, and some of you may recall that Cleveland had an NHL team, the Barons for a few years that has recently resurrected as an AHL team. Since girls were not allowed to play organized hockey, some of us took up speed skating instead. But, getting to meets was extremely inconvenient to most parents with large families, so we had to be content with just knowing how to skate really, really fast and compete in spontaneous private events like drag racing on the crowded rink during public sessions.

The ice rink of our childhood was outdoors with a few hazardous spots in gaps between the wooden corral walls and the ice. Subjected to northern Ohio winter elements, the ice got a little rough rather quickly, which served to make us stronger skaters. Pop music of the time (some of the best skating music ever) was piped from tinny loudspeakers you could hear from 200 yards away as you approached or left the rink. We sang along, skated in rhythm, coupled up, watched for friends to arrive, and occasionally thawed out on wooden benches inside the spartan locker area where the floor was covered with large, rubber tiles that squeaked against your skates. The concession stand was limited to soda, watery hot cocoa and popcorn, but nobody went to the rink to eat. Most of us went to skate…and to meet boys.

Between the months of November and March, the skating rink was the place to find romance. It was better than a sock hop or school function because skating alone was perfectly acceptable, and if you were a competent skater you’d attract a partner during the “couples only” skates. Many relationships blossomed under the glow of multicolored outdoor lights, amid the crackle of the Association’s Never my Love, while holding gloved hands cris-crossed in the traditional style. The litmus test of any new relationship formed in school was observing the courting ritual on the ice rink. If the prospect was faithful and didn’t skate with any other girls, there was a future. If the prospect didn’t skate, that made for a tenuous long distance relationship, since most of us spent 100 days a year at the rink, often staying for both afternoon sessions on Saturdays and Sundays.

Then one year in the early 70s, between spring and autumn, the city razed the beloved outdoor rink, like the Velveteen Rabbit with its warped surface, shabby edges and mounds of packed snow left by the Zambonis that remained long into April, and replaced it with a sparkling new indoor rink where we could skate without hats or coats on fast, wet ice that challenged even the veteran skaters. At first it was a little like a demolition derby until we all adjusted to the glassy surface and warmer temperatures.

Continued...