This is Jeff's Fault

I am a reasonably political animal, though describing my politics is difficult, even for me. I call myself a relentless pragmatist and find myself more often leeward than windward in my orientation as we sail the ocean of political science (as oxymoronic as that term tends to be).

I had some intention, though not very much or for very long, to watch those (or some of those) seeking the Republican Party nomination for President next year as they debated foreign policy. The longer I thought about that idea as my Saturday night, the funnier it actually became. In light of the luminaries on the stage seeking the nomination and their cumulative experience in the real world, much less the globe beyond our borders, I couldn't imagine what they'd do to fill up the first two minutes of the program.

Harvesting dental floss sounded like a much better investment of my time though it's hard to get a van loaded and on the road to Montana on such short notice. And then Jeff, my boon companion a little more than two years ago on a star-crossed crusade we both knew was doomed from the get go, but still we slogged on, and into the Valley rode the Six Hundred (minus 598), shared a clip with me and I knew my viewing would never include the Seven Dwarfs. Not last night or any night.

I've spent a great deal of time contemplating how, at the time of the Founding of the Republic we had so many people more than qualified to be President when only one could be, and how, 235 years later, we could have such a gaggle of idiots clamoring for our votes. Did they lose their way or have we? All you can do sometimes is give a woodchuck a tuna melt. At least one of us can.

These are complex and complicated times and we need more than simple (and simple-minded) solutions or drive-by, voice byte insights. There's a lot of hard work ahead of us and we need serious thinkers to create opportunities for all of us to contribute to the Renaissance of this country. Yeah, it takes all kinds of people to include less than sane, I guess. Speaking of which, waiter, check please.

And how precarious a state must we be in to find Mike Tyson, of all people, to be the best Herman Cain since, well, since Herman himself. Chocolate might be the flavor of the week, my friends, Romans and Countrymen, but crazy is the taste Republicans never tire of.

-bill kenny