Gentlemen, start your sweater vests! It's Super Tuesday for members of the Grand Old Party who haven't been behaving in any way even close to approximating their name in recent months. As I understand the math, and we have a multi-trillion dollar deficit to attest that I'm not alone in not being good at math, there are close to 420 delegates in ten states all in play today. On a planet with slightly more than seven billion people, it might be hard to muster double digit headcounts of people who care about this, but they should because this is seriously important process stuff.
We're talking 'the miracle of democracy' here, campers, though based on the way the Republicans have been waging war on one another it seems more like a demolition derby. What did the candidates still standing do with the 11th Commandment their purported idol, The Gipper, used to offer? And talk about making up in volume what they have lacked in ability, you have to admire the number of people who have sought the Republican party's nomination, if for no more than an hour or so. Less than ninety days ago the menu included Michele Bachman and Rick Perry, both now departed (I checked with Randy and he didn't know her. I was afraid to ask Steve just in case he did) and now there's the Fantastic Four.
If life were only as simple as a Marvel comic-we could skip to the last page and see how it all comes out, but we don't have that luxury (I am seriously considering writing in Jessica Alba but write-in ballots with drool are not accepted). In an era of hyper-partisanship, no matter who becomes the nominee of the Republican Party and I'm assuming President Barack Obama will be his party's choice for a second term, the noise will only increase-and I'm not sure, no matter who the victor is on November 6th, any of us end up winning.
I can remember exactly where I as and what I was doing as the Berlin Wall imploded and a sense of exuberant optimism and joy permeated the planet. The hangover has been a bitch. Not sure how long it took for the starry-eyed to become the thousand yard stare but I do know if we're waiting for someone, somewhere to pick us up, dust us off and set us back on track we better start looking in the mirror because the person who is that reflection is all we have left. Or right-as if affiliation mattered anymore.