Sunday, June 18, 2006

Election Season

I am way less lonely since election season started. Up until last month, all I was getting in the mail were cable offers and two or three Pottery Barn catalogs a week (all because we bought that dumb magazine rack four years ago… It’s like smiling at the goofy new kid when you are in third grade. Ah! Leave me alone! It was only a magazine rack. Please stop following me. I just want to play tetherball with my friends). But now all of these strangely cheerful, yet sort of antagonistic, people keep contacting me with such vital information as: “Judy Chu is the only candidate for the State Board of Equalization who is endorsed by the California Teachers Association.” (OK, sorry, but have you ever seen someone work as hard as Judy Chu to get elected to this heretofore completely unknown state board? She has sent me more mail then any other candidate, including people who are running for real elected positions).
Today, for example, my mailbox was bursting with colorful patriotic fliers filled with helpful, unbiased information. I received a picture of Russ Warner, his wife of 35 years and their three sons. The oldest is a sergeant in the army, which is why you should vote for his dad. I also got a document with someone’s frightening grandpa admonishing me to “Save prop. 13.” The way, I am supposed to do this, apparently, is to vote no on prop. 82 (I am confused); a watchtower style reproduction of a watercolor painting of Steve Westly’s face; and a brochure that is working as hard as it can to convince me that Phil Angelides personally poured cement over thousands of acres of wetlands, somehow using the (pictured) yellow bulldozer, after which he (in all likelihood) cackled maniacally and spat right on the spot where the wetlands used to be.
I very much enjoyed a piece of campaign literature from a group that identifies itself as “Christians for Honest Government” (does that mean that it’s some sort of splinter group?) It is a plain white card that reads, “If you are happy with $4.00 a gallon gasoline, freeways being turned into 10 lane parking lots, your house taxes being raised to pay for welfare and education expenses for illegal aliens and their children, factories moving to China and India and other Third World countries, then do not read any further…” I don’t know what else it says because that’s where I stopped.
But, yeah, it’s been nice to be on the receiving end of so much meaningful correspondence, to be included in the “debate,” so to speak. And, in addition to the mail, I have been getting a series of exciting telephone messages from, I am not ashamed to admit, some pretty influential people. The Chairman of the California Democratic Party, the President of the California Teachers Association, Jerry Brown, and Al Gore (!) have all called me up to ask my support for various candidates and propositions they thought were worth my attention. So, I guess it does kind of feel like things are starting to turn around for me a little bit.

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Allergies

Spring is the splendid season in which all of the flowers open and Bambi and Thumper make friends. Song birds land on your windowsill, days get longer, and suddenly middle school kids of the opposite gender notice that one another exist. Baseball starts. Hockey ends. It is time to go outside and be all pastoral. Time for picnics in the park, and plant potting, and probably a bunch of other stuff that starts with “p” that I can’t think of right now.
It is also the season in which my nose and eyes go into open revolt. You have probably seen me around town with tears streaming down my cheeks and eyes so bloodshot that it looks like I am leaving Las Vegas. And, if you haven’t seen me, then I am sure you have heard me. Every two minutes or so, I hold a soggy handkerchief to my raw and bleeding nostrils, and I let loose a trumpeting schnoz-blast that can be heard everywhere within a mile and half radius.
Yet, spring is also the season in which I thank my lucky stars that I have hit the jackpot of human existence. For, I live in a time and place with readily available access to early, preventative, orthodontic treatment (yay, no overbite!), hot water on demand (yay, morning shower!), and, best of all, Claritin. Nectar of the gods, giver of life, stopper of the cross country relay race that is my nose, thank you. I don’t know if life would be worth living if I had to face the full horror of my allergies without the aid of pharmaceuticals. I know it’s just “hay fever,” but have you ever thought about what those trees are actually trying to do to the insides of our noses? Just think about this: according to my official scientific sources, pollination is “the transfer of pollen from a male reproductive structure to a female reproductive structure.” All of those male trees out there, the ones planted and maintained by our friendly public works department, they are trying to reproduce! Inside of my head! No wonder my body flips out and gets all oozy and runny and sneezy and agitated. It’s working as hard as it can to repel the unwanted advances of overbearing, perverted, trees.