I was originally going to write a more uplifting diary about my renewed optimism for Obama's chances in the fall, but I'm sorry, I have to vent a little first.
Yesterday, I, like millions of Americans, attended a 4th of July barbeque. Mine was with rouge Democrats in solidly red Orange County, California (I should say that I've attended this barbeque for years now, so I've gotten to know and really like many of the people who attend annually). Given the location, there are also a fair number of Republicans that attend, some of whom I've gotten to know and really like despite our differences.
I would say that most of the regulars are older (65+), upper class, white and extremely successful. All of them have conquered adversity in some form or another, and enjoy world-class retirements. They all, Republican and Democrat, have great things to say about Obama (and all of the most intractably Republican men love Michelle).
More below ...
I should say that I was really looking forward to going to this year's barbeque. I'm the only African-American who attends this affair, and I really thought I had it gamed perfectly this time. I knew the pigs to avoid talking to at all costs, and given Obama's success, I anticipated that my stock would be way up this year.
I arrived early, when everyone was still at the beach (it's sickening, I know). I'm by no means wealthy, but I have to admit feeling really good. It was a perfect day to enjoy some spoils. I turned to a young man and told him I was looking forward to more guests arriving.
The first guests to arrive were two of my favorite people, this down-home couple from Santa Ana. Of course we talked about the Lakers and I said that I'd mailed the team a box of Tampax to express my gratitude for their finals performance (ok, 'hide' junkies, obviously I didn't really do that). We talked about one of their cheeky grandkids and about the clams and lobster we were going to eat later. He said he was gratified to have been named to the cooking crew (a real honor at this event) because it gave him something to do. I can't say I blame him. If I knew my ex-wife was going to show up later, I'd want something to do too.
Then other guests began arriving, and new people sat at the table. I'd say that the new people (also regulars) were, well, let's just say they were 'down home' too. Somehow the conversation turned to Gabriel Garcia-Marquez. Oh I remember now, we were talking about 'No Country for Old Men' and Javier Bardem (one of the most beautiful men in the universe). I was raving about his performance in 'Love in the Time of Cholera' at which point one of the new arrivals declared: 'that is not a catchy title'.
And it was downhill from there. We (now me and three other women) started talking about the economy. Apparently the woman who was less than impressed with Garcia-Marquez's work was nostalgic for an agrarian society in which American's were more 'self-reliant'. She was confident that she could ably tend her own theoretical garden, and that she could even withstand the rigors of Amish life. In an attempt to lighten the conversation, I told her that I thought the Amish had a better fashion sense than the polygamists. Though others agreed strenuously, this woman was not amused. Then I remembered what the social women (the ones that didn't talk to her) had been whispering about her two ex-husbands and their penchant for her young son.
At this point, some more guests arrived. One of my favorite guests, a man, greeted me. He's an older gentleman, Irish and fair. He knelt down next to me and I told him his linens were particularly fetching. He told me it was his plantation look, at which point I winced and warned jokingly that I would have to watch myself around him. I thought that would be enough to preempt any further damage.
Wrong.
'I'll have you picking cotton in no time', he said. I told him we'd come to blows before that happened, and attempted to seek refuge in my previous conversation which had now turned to Marilyn Monroe. The Amish woman was talking about how fortunate Monroe was to have benefitted from her association with strong, 'learned' men like Joe DiMaggio. I mentioned that Monroe also knew Henry Miller. She then went on to lament the toxic effect of the internet on writing in general, likening various 'texting' idioms to ebonics. 'I don't even capitalize anymore, and it looks bad at work' she said.
'Ok. I'm done,' I said to myself. I got up to go to the kitchen. On the way, the master of the house stopped me and I could see a couple of martinis in his eyes. He said 'it's an interesting crowd isn't it?' Obviously he'd heard what the dapper Irishman had said to me. Though I've been attending this barbeque for over a decade, I said, 'Yes, especially those ladies there. They're too fast for me, so I'm taking a break'. He laughed knowingly.
...
I was having a great time. So ravenous is my gluttony for punishment that I sat down to dine at a table with three of the most die-hard Republicans of the evening, two of whom I've known and liked for years. Inevitably the conversation turned to the election and the third one, who I was meeting for the first time, said he thought Obama was a shoo-in. Though I took his comments with a grain of salt, I was still surprised and delighted. I asked him why, and he said he thought it was time for a change. He said he thought we should 'give the guy a chance' and that no one was going to vote for an 'old geezer' like McCain.
At that point, the other two Republicans, we'll call them Dick and Jane, dissented. They thought Obama didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell, and Jane was 'particularly concerned' about Obama's lack of experience. Oh and get this: Jane thought that Obama was 'racist' because he 'told those Muslim women they couldn't sit behind him'. Mind you, Dick and Jane met because Jane was Dick's secretary while Dick was married to Shrew. Dick has since divorced Shrew and married Jane, and they have a lovely daughter. Still though. Jane, who married the boss, is 'concerned' about Obama's experience.
And they went on. They were 'not ashamed' (a notable notch down from 'proud') to be Republicans because they are 'Americans'. At this point, my partner rightly asked them if they meant that Democrats were not American by implication. They sidestepped, and accused Obama of 'flip-flopping' for wearing a fucking flag pin. On the 4th of motherfucking July.
I looked at Dick and I said that I thought McCain was the ultimate 'flip-flopper'. He scoffed and asked why and I asked him if they remembered what happened to McCain in South Carolina. I said that Bush initiated a now infamous whisper campaign alleging McCain had fathered an illegitimate black child. I told him that the child in question was Asian, but that it didn't matter to people who were so racist that they couldn't tell the difference. Then I said that I remembered when the Bushes and the McCains stood for a 'shoulder-to-shoulder' photo-op after Bush clinched the nomination. I remember McCain said something like 'well, I guess he's got to get off to campaigning right now and I support him 100%'. McCain ran as a 'maverick' that year, but when push came to shove, they talked shit about his family and he didn't do a goddamned thing. As they say down South, he didn't say 'boo' 'bout it.
I then leaned in and whispered to Dick: 'McCain's a pussy. He didn't defend his own house. He's got no business being President'. Furthermore, I said to Dick (a notorious ne'er-do-well prankster in his younger days) that McCain, for all is POW valor, 'lost to a shithead like you'.
To my surprise, Dick didn't say a goddamned thing. Maybe it was my candor, but I had succeeded in doing something nobody had done for years. I momentarily shut Dick up. Dick and I are still good friends, but I was really surprised. He turned to argue with somebody else about the economy and claimed to have no idea why oil was $144/barrel with an oilman as president.
I felt I had regained my equilibrium, and resolved to avoid politics for the remainder of the evening. Then I heard Dick crapping about how Clinton was a 'liar' during the Lewinsky affair. I decided to try my luck at shutting Dick up again and I said "do you know what Dick?!? If Clinton was in 'the fraternity', you would have given him a pass for lying and you know it. And besides, at least with our guy, the scandal involves a young tart who can't keep her mouth shut instead of some Senator with his dick out in the men's room."
Uh. Oh.
No sooner had I said that, another man approached me. I realized it was the new husband of the ex-wife of the down-home guy from Santa Ana. We'll call him Asshole.
Asshole: 'You know, you're a bleeding heart liberal'
Me: (flustered) 'uh ... and proud of it'
Asshole: 'I can tell by the way you talk.'
Me: (flustered)
Asshole: 'There's no way Obama's gonna win! No way! We're not that crazy in this country. He'll never win because it'll become a racial issue!'
Me: 'I'm not so sure you're right.'
Asshole: 'When you've got 93% of African-Americans voting for Obama, that's a racial issue. And he's a racial!'
Me: 'He's what?'
Asshole: 'He's a racial! He's racist!'
Me: 'But hundreds of millions of white people voted for him.'
Asshole: 'He's a racist!'
Me: 'No, he's not.'
Asshole: 'Yes he is!'
Me: 'No, he's not.'
Asshole: '...'
I guess this is what change looks like? I can't remember why I wrote this diary now.
Oh yeah. Though it's hard to believe, the overwhelming feeling amongst these power brokers was that the election was Obama's to lose. Later that evening, I confided in one of the regulars (a proud Democrat) that if Obama win's, I'm going to grab a DVD of Blazing Saddles and cue it up to this scene:
In the meantime, I'm going to get out the vote, ... and right now I'm going to take a bath.