Saturday, November 15, 2008

Advice for Obama

First, Don't pick Hillary for State. If you're leaning toward establishment types, choose Richardson for State, Hillary for AG (assuming she'd take it). Hillary would be great in the latter role--she can be a bulldog, a law-enforcer, bigtime--and from there she can go on the Supreme Court (Barack, you can make that part of the deal).

Second, make some announcements next week, then dribble them out in the succeeding weeks to keep the pot boiling. You're risking being thought of as "political" by maintaining this hands-off position during the transition. That is, some of us are beginning to feel that you're allowing Bush to stew in his juice as the economy implodes and the wars drag on, rather than doing something--anything--about these things. I mean, what about some specific proposals for the upcoming lame-duck session of Congress?

The words "hope" and "change" are more than campaign slogans: They're cries for help. Respond, Barack. Help us.

For a few laughs...

check out Cavett on Palin.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

From the heart, and the heartland

America's prince of radio has spoken: Obama is one cool dude.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Reflections

Well, it's over. The election was long enough ago for some thoughts, as opposed to reactions, to come to my conscious. (It helped that in the interim I had two long drives over the Sonora/Mojave deserts, with Dylan on the stereo.)

First, the letdown. I had so much energy invested in the campaign and outcome that no amount of celebratory sensation could dissipate it, and so, like a balloon at the completion of its deflation, my body/mind sagged and shriveled. I spent the morning after the election watching postmortems on television and found myself barely able to pack my car to get out of the Las Vegas motel before checkout time. Then, while driving toward Tucson with no radio reception in my car, I listened to folk music CDs and got a dose of sobriety, realizing that we'd done this before: Forty-five years earlier, in August 1963, when Martin intoned about the dream, and we felt, for a few moments, that it was possible to reach the mountaintop. Well, we didn't then, and I felt unsure--sad, wise, conditioned--knowing how easily dreams can lead to rude awakenings.

Second, the resolve. I visited my daughter and her little daughter in Tucson and realized, fully, how deep a debt I've incurred by being lax in my contributions to the world they'll inhabit when I'm gone. I decided I'd better get busy cleaning up the place--its environment, its populace, its psyche.

Third, the calm. Really, I thought as I drove back to SB from Tucson, there's nothing magic in my revelations. What needed to be done has always been there, right in front of me: It's the next right thing, just as I'd always known.