Because I don't actually have time to blog, and because the essence of what I have to say is basically "Yeah: What he said," I will just cut n'paste Mark Morford's column onto my blog today and force you to read it. Please feel free to visit SFGate and buy things from their advertisers so I don't get yelled at for what is essentially...copyright infringement? Maybe? Is it if I give full credit and mention how Mark Morford still makes me drool physically and intellectually after all these years? Sigh.
By the way, I'd like to dedicate today's column to Steve Wiley and my sister Suzanne, the only two people brave enough to admit to my face that they voted for Bush both times. Vote for Bush? Pay up
Did you help put America's worst prez into power? Time to make amends
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Sure, you could start with an open-palmed apology, a profoundly contrite on-your-knees sort of thing, maybe an open letter in your local paper or a heartfelt speech at your next dinner party whereby you stumble though some sort of "I don't know what the hell I was thinking" or "I must've been blind" or "Wow, that mescaline sure was potent" type of defense for your unfortunate and reprehensible choices.
But the fact is, that's not really gonna cut it.
Of course, you could do the obvious thing and cast your vote in November for Barack Obama, but even I know that's probably asking too much — and besides, all signs indicate a potential landslide for Obama anyway, given the unprecedented worldwide rush of positive energy, the tremendous cosmic craving for intelligent and new and ingenuous, coupled with a deep undercurrent of karmic revulsion toward the wonky, bloodthirsty agenda of grandpa McCain.
So then, what can you do, all you increasingly humiliated, disillusioned, deeply mistaken Bush voters? How can you, having hopefully realized by now the violent error of your ways, take steps both small and large to try and make amends for shoving Dubya down the throat of the world, for your tiny but oh so poisonous contribution to the worst and most demeaning eight years in modern American politics?
First, let's be clear: As tempting as it is, I do not suggest some grand humiliating gesture, some sweetly demeaning spectacle whereby you must dye your hair blue and run naked through the streets of rural Alabama waving a rainbow flag and carrying a bottle of fresh stem cells as you suddenly claim to care deeply about blue fin tuna and Brazilian rain forests and honest sex ed for teens. Unless you really want to.
Nor do I suggest, say, an immediate "Bush tax," whereby everything you ever purchase from now until you die will cost 10 percent more than it does for liberals, and every cent of it will go to the arts, and schools, and women's rights, and alternative fuels, and GLAAD, et al and so on. Don't get me wrong, it's a damn fine idea, just a bit unrealistic.
Let's keep it simple. The next time, say, gay marriage comes up in conversation, perhaps you say, well, you know, I don't really get the gay thing at all and certainly my anxiety about it is rooted somewhere too deep and sad to explore right now, but I've been doing a bit of actual homework (!), and it turns out that homosexuality is simply all over the animal kingdom, across all sorts of species, and animals seem to enjoy it for both survival and pleasure. Who knew?
In other words, nature seems to approve. And isn't nature merely God in a nice grass suit?
As your baffled pals pick their jaws up off the floor, you can add: Hell, science is pretty much proving homosexuality is biological anyway, not a "lifestyle" choice at all. And gays in the military? Hell, if the badass Israeli army can handle it, the United States sure as hell can, am I right? Now, pass me a stogie and let's go blast some canned pheasant with a shotgun.
See? It doesn't have to all be liberal tofu gobbledygook. I know that waking up to the contemptible wrongheadedness that was your support of the BushCo neocon agenda must be painful. Baby steps, honey. Baby steps.
Speaking of the military, maybe it's time you openly acknowledge that you actually can support our troops, enjoy your righteous sense of patriotism, think America is the world's greatest kick-ass whateveryoulike, and yet not think it's OK that a secretive and bloodthirsty cadre of inept leaders has wasted trillions of dollars and thousands of young American lives in a failed grab for power and petroleum and megalomania. You think?
Which brings up another point: It's also perfectly OK to make whatever you do sound like something you thought up, all by yourself. Yes, progressives have been urging you to raise your awareness of things humane and open-minded for eons. No matter. You can take all the credit. We're generous that way.
Let's say you do something as simple as trade in your massive American gas hog for a Mini Cooper. And now you find you really love your little German-engineered wonder, its handling and efficiency and joyous kick. Perfectly fine to hide your newfound refinement and tell your macho friends that you did it because you hate giving all that oil dough to those greedy Saudi sheiks — and what's more, now you can take corners at 50 mph without rolling over and bursting into flame. Cool, no?
While you're at it, mention to your buds that the steaks they're eating are actually locally raised and grass-fed, not because you give a good goddamn about humane animal treatment or toxic industrial feedlots (though you really should), but because the meat tastes better and costs less and you wanna save some dough to, you know, buy more guns and porn. Hey, whatever works.
But don't stop there. Might as well tell your homies to throw their food scraps in your new compost bin, too, not because you care about garbage, but because you learned how to cultivate some great topsoil in which to grow your heirloom tomatoes for your famous spaghetti sauce for NASCAR night. Look at you! Actually caring about the health and the environment, but pretending not to! Hey, it's a start.
How about secretly beginning to note the overarching brilliance of, say, Dan Savage as well as the nauseating rancidity of Ann Coulter? Or stick a Cabela's catalog cover over an issue of Mother Jones or the Nation, and read it with an open mind and a bottle of premium chilled sake? Or realize, with increasing sense of shame, that across just about every social and environmental issue, the hippies were pretty much right about everything, no matter what you thought of the clothes and the music and the hair? Now you're getting it.
Don't forget the money. Feel free to make a series of large, anonymous donations to the Sierra Club, or a local battered women's shelter, or even Planned Parenthood. Trust me when I say, the odds are shockingly good your own daughter/son/wife will be incredibly grateful for their wise and informed counsel someday soon, if she or he hasn't been already.
You get the idea? Really, compared with the disgusting levels of damage wrought by your support of the dark armies of Bush, these suggestions are nothing. You actually owe quite a bit more. OK, a lot more. Incalculable, really.
But for now, let's be reasonable. After all, the sooner you realize that the world is, in fact, not America's bitch, that it's actually a living, humming organism, interconnected and interdependent in ways and on levels no organized religion or fear-based neocon political agenda can possibly comprehend, much less bomb into submission, well, the sooner we can get our collective s— together and move the human experiment forward once again.
And after what you've put us all through, it's the very least you could do.
