Hippie Liberal Crap

I am just going to admit up front that I sat in my car and cried like a giant baby after voting.

Here’s the thing, in my defense–I drove up past colleges and churches where the Civil Rights Movement was fostered, had to wait to park, there were so many people, and it was crowded in the library (thought I only had to wait a few minutes in line, because they were well-staffed) and it seemed like every third voter they were shouting “First-time voter!” and everyone would cheer and then I got up to the screen and I voted for a bunch of Democrats and Chris Lugo (sorry, Bob Tuke.  You seem like a nice enough guy but you’re kind of an overly sincere doofus) and I left and there in the atrium a woman was talking on the phone and I heard her say “I couldn’t believe his name was actually on the ballot” and I just lost it.

Listen, I don’t think Obama is the greatest thing since sliced cheese.  I’m not even sure he’ll be a very good president.  But I’m proud to be able to vote for him, and I’m proud to vote for him.

The Best Part is the Cute Smile at the End

Her pronunciation of “Bare-Rack Obama” reminds me though that one of the local newsfolks calls him “Brock O’Bama” which almost sounds like a Southside Irish name.

In other news, Kay Brooks uncovers the little-known fact that Barack Obama lives in Hyde Park.  My grandma grew up in Hyde Park; I guess that makes me an Obama operative, too.

Edited to add:

I’m just laughing so hard still at Kay Brooks being all “I’ve discovered who Obama lives near,” that I just had to go see who else lives or has lived in Hyde Park so that we might also paint him with the brushes of their bad acts:

Muhammad Ali, Steve Allen, Blue Balliet, Saul Bellow, Gwendolyn Brooks, Clarence Darrow, Kurt Elling, Enrico Fermi, Milton Friedman, James Heckman, Sue Miller, Barack Obama, Sara Paretsky, Carl Sandburg, Harold Washington, and Mahalia Jackson

Ha, you know, I would pay good money to go to a cocktail party where these folks, Ayers, and Farrakhan were all present.  You’re going to tell me that wouldn’t be a good time.

Oh, and my grandma, and her parents.  I forgot them.

I’m Starting to Suspect I’m Not Going to Get My Donuts

I remind you how this went.  I said “I bet you dollars to donuts this has something to do with the Adelicia v. South Street fight.”  S-town Mike said, “I think you’d lose that bet because this doesn’t even have anything at all to do with midtown.”  I prove that it does indeed have to do with midtown by using my mad reading skills and now S-town Mike is trying to prove that all this started before the Adelicia v. South Street fight.

So, you can see, there are no donuts coming for me.

I have noticed this in arguing, that there are marked differences in arguing styles.  See, I feel like this argument had two parts.  A. Whether this had to do with Adelicia v. South Street and then B. Whether it had anything to do with midtown at all.  And I think it’s clear that Mike moved us from argument A. to argument B.

I clearly won argument B.  It does indeed have to do with midtown.

But rather than concede, and bring me donuts (which is the important part), he’s now acting like we’re back to a.

Fine.  You bring me donuts, I’ll give you a dollar.  You keep your donuts, I’ll keep my dollar.  The world is righted once again.

But I’m still pondering the exchange.  Why is it that, when Tobia said in the first place that such an ordinance was stupid, the thrust of the conversation wasn’t, “No, here’s why it’s necessary,” but “No, here’s why it’s not stupid.”  So, instead of being a discussion (which Mike now wants to get to) about actual noise levels and offending clubs and whether they’ve been responsive to people’s needs, it’s a discussion about what Austin is doing or Atlanta or what-have-you.

It’s not a discussion about actual problems in our community and how best to address them, but some lofty discussion about the proper role of government and moderation as a virtue and bringing ourselves in line with other communities.

I know I’ve pointed this out before, but a lot of times, when you’re trying to have a discussion with men, especially men who think other men are watching or participating, you have to go through this metaphorical dick-waving before you can get down to the meat of the issue.  Everyone has to prove that they have the “right equipment” to be in the conversation and that the pecking order has been established.

This is not at all how I’ve been socialize–I assume as a white upper-working class midwestern woman–to converse.  I’m supposed to be seeing everyone’s side and building consensus and helping the man feel like he’s won, even as I manipulate him to get my own way.  If that doesn’t work, I go in the kitchen, reach consensus among the woman, and do what I damn well please.

But that kind of rhetorical strategy–find a way to seem to acquiesce while secretly maintaining that you were right and, if no way to seem to acquiesce can be found, withdraw from the conversation–works very poorly on blogs.  Well, in public life in general.

How can women who are trained to go along with what the men say or leave the room if they can’t, have any kinds of effective public discussion?

We joke, my friends and I, that it would be awesome to carry a dildo around in your purse, so that when it’s dick-waving time, you can reach down, pull yours out, set it on the table and be heard and treated as a voice with the authority to speak.

Hmm, we’ve wandered far afield of donuts, but it’s always interesting how we get so far, you know?