I admit it I have an abiding and debilitating  deep streak of Anarchist angst, which historically has led to some disastrous alliances. In Spain the anarchists agreed to work with socialists, communists and trotskyists with the predictable end result. In the past I have been willing to set my ideological scruples aside to stand with the ISO and SWP, because of friendships and a shared desire to defeat injustice, stop fascists from parading through my home town and defend access to clinics. I did so in spite of being fully aware we shared little in common and groups like the ISO get involved in actons and movements to attract new members, even if it means leaving a shattered and gutted organization in their wake. But there have to be lines drawn in the sand beyond which we should refuse to be trapped by our ideological angst. The Clinton Campaign is one such moment.

Negative thinking gets you nowhere.  And I don't want to be negative.  But after speaking to many of my friends, I am increasingly worried that we have passed the point of no return and cannot win in November.

I'm old enough to still lump up at black-and-white pictures of "Robert, Martin, and John," and I think, for good reason.  I've been involved in enough campaigns to think I'm beyond starry-eyed idealism, and tilting at windmills (without, I hope, hopelessly compromising the ideals of my peacenik and bleeding-heart youth, with utterly pragmatic realism).  That is not to say that life does not still surprise and delight me in all kinds of ways, including politics.

Tonight was just such a night, and for reasons that have nothing (okay, unexpectedly little) to do with whether Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama carried California on this Super Tuesday.  Although I had perhaps one or two too many glasses of wine at our Wasco County (Oregon) Democrats' Super Tuesday Party, I want to share my experience of the evening, and hope you will join me across the fold.

And he can take it as an insult or compliment, but I merely make the statement as an observation.

Let me explain...

I don't know Markos.  Nor have I ever directly communicated to him.  I don't think he's even read any of my comments or Diaries.

And I couldn't give a flying shit, to tell y'all the truth.

more on the flip

For people who don't understand what the rest of the world thinks about America, I can fill them in on an experience with some friends in a mid size city in Southeast  Germany.