Sarah? Get me the diner!

This past summer we stood on the beach at Cape May Point, NJ, and watched across the Delaware Bay. "Look, Peggy," I exclaimed, "you can see Delaware from here!"


That makes me qualified to be vice-president of the United States, according to the governor of Alaska, but I will state this now: if elected, I will not serve. It wouldn't be fair, after all these negative things that mean people have been saying about Sarah Palin.


But now my own words are coming back for another hearing. Back in April, I was thinking about Senator Roman Hruska, a staunch advocate for the mediocre and their right to serve in higher office so as to represent all the mediocre people across our land. Now here's the governor of Alaska, speaking to rightwing radio host Hugh Hewitt, about why people are so down on her, just because she cannot supply the name of one magazine or newspaper that she reads in order to keep her razor-sharp mind honed to fine perfection: "Oh, I think they're [critics] just not used to someone coming in from the outside saying you know what? It's time that a normal Joe Six-Pack American is finally represented in the position of vice presidency, and I think that that's kind of taken some people off guard, and they're out of sorts, and they're ticked off about it."

Of course, the words of Demosthenes, of Lincoln, of Wm. Jennings Bryan, of Minnie Pearl come to mind whenever this woman opens up on a topic. Yes, Sarah, that's all we want, all we hope for in our national leaders, all the greatness to which we can aspire. Joe Six-Pack American. No longer should we hope for another George Washington to lead us on the road to freedom, a Franklin D. Roosevelt to lead us out of the economic abyss into which the last eight years have dragged us, a Martin Luther King to lead an entire race to the equality that all people deserve. No, let's exalt the dull, the poorly read, the ill-informed, the mediocre mainstream of plebeian doltishness.

And what's scary is that there are plenty of people who will drop their remotes, scratch themselves in an inappropriate manner, and say, "You know, this woman here, she has the right idea, yaknowwhaddamean, honey?" Let's forego the filet mignon for a baloney sandwich, the fine paintings for a decal showing wide-eyed kids or dogs playing cards, the chilled Chablis for a grape Tru-Ade, and be done with class and the desire to be better in all things.

Come Thanksgiving time, when Old McCain and the uninformed governor are weaving their tales of woe, and C-MAC looks at another long winter of hearing J-MAC ramble on about the good old days when he favored uh no I mean he didn't favor oh all right he favored regulation of the market, we will all be thankful that eight years of hell are coming to an end on a cold winter's day. 1/20/09.