When I was in 4th grade, in 1963, our next door neighbor, gave me her children's old issues of Treasure Chest magazine, a Catholic comic book. I loved to read and these mags were pretty good. There were stories about saints and artists (I especially loved the story about Michelangelo), and a serial story at the end of each magazine about a man named Tim Pettigrew who was running for president in 1976. Tim was always drawn in silhouette, so readers never saw his features. In the last installment of the series, Tim wins the election, and readers get a chance to see what Tim really looks like : a slender, light skinned black man with short hair. He resembled Barack Obama.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
The Obamians
So I went to the caucus on Thursday night and stood up for Obama. In our caucus group, it wasn't even close - The Obamians expanded over half the room (the high school cafeteria), leaving the other groups smushed into little corners, an edge by the wall. I was next to a woman recently moved to Iowa from Illinois. I told her why I supported Obama, his clear headedness, his authority and leadership, the way he thinks through issues, the way he listens, the way he inspires and motivates others. She nodded and said, "yes, I've been watching him for some time now and have observed how he has matured." Oh yeah, duh, the lady's from Illinois.
Meanwhile the precinct captains and officers counted and re-counted. "Stand up," they cried, followed by the head count in which each person sat down (most on the sticky cafeteria floor) when the officer pointed at him or her. Counts were tallied, checked against the voters registered, viability decided, groups shuffled about, then everyone stood up and counted again. Sway to the left, sway to the right, stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight!
I used to vote in a primary - so simple. Walk down the street to someone's two-car garage, wait in a long line (maybe there were coffee and cookies available). Sign your name, grab your paper ballot and go to a booth. Come out, tear the corner off your ballot ("I've voted, have you?" to pin to your lapel), stuff the ballot into the cardboard box, go home.
But in Iowa, we caucus - we get together in big neighborhood groups, and for an hour or two, we wave fingers across the room at acquaintances, chat with people we just met, smile, yawn, move closer together to make room for more Democrats (the Republicans do it a little bit differently), and feel very American and grateful to be able to do this at all.
And now we wait and watch and hope.
Meanwhile the precinct captains and officers counted and re-counted. "Stand up," they cried, followed by the head count in which each person sat down (most on the sticky cafeteria floor) when the officer pointed at him or her. Counts were tallied, checked against the voters registered, viability decided, groups shuffled about, then everyone stood up and counted again. Sway to the left, sway to the right, stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight!
I used to vote in a primary - so simple. Walk down the street to someone's two-car garage, wait in a long line (maybe there were coffee and cookies available). Sign your name, grab your paper ballot and go to a booth. Come out, tear the corner off your ballot ("I've voted, have you?" to pin to your lapel), stuff the ballot into the cardboard box, go home.
But in Iowa, we caucus - we get together in big neighborhood groups, and for an hour or two, we wave fingers across the room at acquaintances, chat with people we just met, smile, yawn, move closer together to make room for more Democrats (the Republicans do it a little bit differently), and feel very American and grateful to be able to do this at all.
And now we wait and watch and hope.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Not blogging to my potential
I keep jotting down notes about topics I want to blog about, but I don't have a computer at home, so I can't blog till I get to the library, and then I can only blog when I'm not actually supposed to be working. Doesn't matter anyway, I always leave my little cryptic notes
("B-winkle"; "quack"; "bounce/window") at home.
I wonder, if I blogged more often, would my blog zoom around the internet faster and would people start finding it and reading it and leaving comments and making me feel wonderful, or awful, but at least noticed? I crave your attention!
I've read other blogs. Some were nothing I was interested in. Others were the products of people who are far more skilled as writers, or far more skilled in some particular skill, or far more knowledgeable in some specific area, than I could ever hope to be. But a lot, a lot, of blogs are just personal journals. Some are boring, some are funny, some are cute or cutesy. Some are pretty darn cool, as in No Impact Man, a journal about trying to live green, and dragging your family along with you. Lots of good information, well written, entertaining, timely, inspiring, worth your time.
In contrast, my blog, this blog, is a Whiner blog. I mean, really, who'd want to read a whiner blog? I've got nothing new or unusual or important to say. I just complain about the unfairness of life. I haven't even really written about all the really beautiful and wonderful and neat stuff about life, mostly because I'm in too much of a "life's not fair" fog to notice anything except how unfair life is. Plus the weather has been really sucky, I'm so damn tired of rain. Blah, blah, blah, Ginger.
But then, you know, I also come across other whiner blogs, and they have tons of activity going on, lots of people writing comments, I mean like dozens and dozens of comments on all of the posts, sometimes hundreds of comments. So how'd they do it? How does one attract so many people to one's whiner blog? I crave that attention! No, I should say it like this (very nasally),
"I want people to read my blog, tooooo, why isn't anyone reading my blog, huh, huh?"
You know, I'm not a social animal. I am, to use an old fashioned term, a wallflower. Put me in a party, and I back up to the wall and try to fade into the wallpaper. Unless you give me a drink, in which case I get tipsy and try to impress everyone with how funny I am when I am drunk and uninhibited. Embarrassing. On the other hand, here I have attempted to present myself in a very public forum-available, literally, to the whole world. And I write well enough, I'm not great, but I can string sentences together better than the average bear. (I've tried to read blogs that made me gnash my teeth and grumble, "go do your English homework!") And while many writers are shy, we still want our writings to be read, to be noticed, to be talked about. (Okay, so I'm not a professional writer, but I do write, have always written, it's a personal need, a desire, something that satisfies me, an avocation, if you will.) mmm - someone just engaged me in conversation and now I have lost my train of thought, bye bye choo choo.
Never mind. I will attempt to blog up to my potential from this point forward. And someday maybe I will also remember what I was going to write in this post.
("B-winkle"; "quack"; "bounce/window") at home.
I wonder, if I blogged more often, would my blog zoom around the internet faster and would people start finding it and reading it and leaving comments and making me feel wonderful, or awful, but at least noticed? I crave your attention!
I've read other blogs. Some were nothing I was interested in. Others were the products of people who are far more skilled as writers, or far more skilled in some particular skill, or far more knowledgeable in some specific area, than I could ever hope to be. But a lot, a lot, of blogs are just personal journals. Some are boring, some are funny, some are cute or cutesy. Some are pretty darn cool, as in No Impact Man, a journal about trying to live green, and dragging your family along with you. Lots of good information, well written, entertaining, timely, inspiring, worth your time.
In contrast, my blog, this blog, is a Whiner blog. I mean, really, who'd want to read a whiner blog? I've got nothing new or unusual or important to say. I just complain about the unfairness of life. I haven't even really written about all the really beautiful and wonderful and neat stuff about life, mostly because I'm in too much of a "life's not fair" fog to notice anything except how unfair life is. Plus the weather has been really sucky, I'm so damn tired of rain. Blah, blah, blah, Ginger.
But then, you know, I also come across other whiner blogs, and they have tons of activity going on, lots of people writing comments, I mean like dozens and dozens of comments on all of the posts, sometimes hundreds of comments. So how'd they do it? How does one attract so many people to one's whiner blog? I crave that attention! No, I should say it like this (very nasally),
"I want people to read my blog, tooooo, why isn't anyone reading my blog, huh, huh?"
You know, I'm not a social animal. I am, to use an old fashioned term, a wallflower. Put me in a party, and I back up to the wall and try to fade into the wallpaper. Unless you give me a drink, in which case I get tipsy and try to impress everyone with how funny I am when I am drunk and uninhibited. Embarrassing. On the other hand, here I have attempted to present myself in a very public forum-available, literally, to the whole world. And I write well enough, I'm not great, but I can string sentences together better than the average bear. (I've tried to read blogs that made me gnash my teeth and grumble, "go do your English homework!") And while many writers are shy, we still want our writings to be read, to be noticed, to be talked about. (Okay, so I'm not a professional writer, but I do write, have always written, it's a personal need, a desire, something that satisfies me, an avocation, if you will.) mmm - someone just engaged me in conversation and now I have lost my train of thought, bye bye choo choo.
Never mind. I will attempt to blog up to my potential from this point forward. And someday maybe I will also remember what I was going to write in this post.
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