Last week’s Democratic debate in Nevada is the first one
I actually enjoyed. Obviously, it helps that the herd has been thinned a bit,
so we got to hear from everyone. But man, where the hell has Elizabeth Warren
been all this time. She came out like a gangsta and gave it to Bloomberg like
she just caught him banging the nanny.
Everyone was kind of testy, weren’t they? While Liz was
throwing haymakers, Bernie was grumpy as always, and Amy and Pete were fighting
like siblings at the kid’s table. I felt like someone should have put a parent
between them. Joe would start calmly but
do a slow build so that by the time he was done, he was rolling like Bluto
giving his “Was it over when the Germans
bombed Pearl Harbor?” speech.
It’s not that I want to see some good presidential
prospects (and Bloomberg) tearing each other down, but damn, it’s about time
someone showed a little feistiness.
Speaking of Bloomberg, watching him “debate,” left me
with one dominating thought: “THIS is the
guy everyone is so worked up about?” He looked like a barely animated
corpse. All he needed to do to complete the illusion is do the soft-shoe and sing
“Puttin’ on the Ritz.”
I wanted Amy Klobuchar to do better, I really did. A
couple weeks ago, I took an online quiz that was supposed to match my opinions
with those of the Democratic candidates. My results came out 1) Klobuchar 2)
Warren. So that made me want to give her a serious listen. But she just came
across like a freshman trying to justify a spot at the cool kids’ table. Then
after the debate, she cut a path straight for the exit, passing up the chance
to look confident and schmoozy with the others. She looked pissed, which is
probably not the image you want when you have a rep for being a mean boss.
The night’s clear winner was Warren. Her demolition of
Bloomberg was essentially an audition for the job of dismantling that other
crass billionaire, on a debate stage this summer. She has passion and wit and a
plan for everything.
Some people like the idea of a president they “can have a beer with.” I say, screw
that. If I wanted an amiable drunk, I’d vote for Norm from Cheers. I want the
president to be the smartest fucker in the room. I think Liz was the smartest
person on that stage by far. She’s honest and transparent about what she
intends to do. Her entire career has centered on ending the enormous advantages
that Wall Street and the financial sector enjoy in this country, to the detriment
of everyone else who’s not filthy rich. Her track record says that she’ll do
what she says she’s going to do.
Obviously, that scares the hell out of the 1-percenters,
who will do anything to keep her from winning (like ignoring her in news reports and polling
projections.) So I think it’s a shame that her debate performance didn’t
translate into a better showing in the Nevada caucus. Maybe it was too close to
the event. Maybe it was just because it was a caucus, which for the life of me,
I can’t understand why they even exist.
Is it not enough just to place votes and count them up?
Why go through the whole dog and pony show? This allows a fraction of the
voting public to participate in the primary, which then gets blown completely
out of proportion. It almost sounds like the system is rigged by a small
percentage of people who love hanging out with strangers in gymnasiums for
several hours and arguing about politics. I say, the hell with “tradition,”
when your tradition is so useless and stupid. Cast the votes, count the votes,
declare a winner.
I know the media wants to run the shocking finale before
the first act is through, but there’s a long way to go here before anyone gets
too anxious about the eventual Democratic nominee. Three states have spoken, we
have 47 more, plus a couple territories, yet to come. I read somewhere that
there have been only 70-some delegates assigned, out of over 3000 in total.
The media seems to want the story to be about the
inevitability of Bernie Sanders. Even the Russians are working for him now. But
lest you think it’s because he’s one of them, I think it’s the opposite. He’s
the one the Russians (and Republicans) want to run against their puppet Trump. They
must have the most confidence in their campaign tactics that involve him, or else
they’d push someone else.
It reminds me of that scene in “All the President’s Men”
where Deep Throat, (Hal Holbrook) is describing Nixon’s rat-fucking tactics to
Bob Woodward (Robert Redford): (and I’m paraphrasing because it’s been so long
since I’ve seen it) “Who do the
Republicans want to run against? McGovern. And who did they end up running
against? McGovern.”
Bernie’s not my guy. If he wins the nomination, I’ll
support him, but he’s not my choice. I don’t see the point in campaigning on
promises that have zero chance of being met. Even if he wins, he’ll need
Congress to go along with his teardown of The System. No matter who’s in
control of the House and Senate, I just don’t see that happening.
If we’re lucky, we may end up with a gradual move in that
direction and if the Democrats can stack some wins, continue the process until
it ends up something like Bernie’s envisioning. But as soon as the GOP regains
control of anything, it’ll be killed in its crib.
And all this is assuming the new Trump-appointed judges and
Supreme Court majority don’t end it before it can start.
Not Debatable At
All
Just to put a bow on last week’s story about the “Ghetto Steaks…”
Sweetpea did indeed turn those tough, gnarly, leathery
steaks into something much more fitting.
Over the weekend, she stuck them all in the crockpot and
shredded them down. Then she filled some a cupcake pan with the remains, added some
vegetables and a little juice, and froze them. Instant dog meals, just nuke and
serve.
Now before you get PETA on our case for giving such
low-grade meat to a dog, please realize that we have a Labrador retriever. It
doesn’t matter how tough the meat is because he doesn’t bother to chew. He just
laps down whatever is in his bowl and then comes back to see what else we have. He will eat a filet mignon or a bowl of sawdust with equal enthusiasm.
In our dog’s eyes, as long as we keep putting stuff in
their bowl, we’re all Emeril Lagasse.