Confessions of a Starving Artist

Just today I was reading a short editorial by the people at GQ.  By all regards, Gentleman’s Quarterly is a liberal magazine; moreso than you may suspect.  This short editorial was a quiet jab at the Right, asking openly the question, where has all the piss ‘n vinegar gone from the GOP and the rightist extreme.  The article sited the pundit crazies that constantly hounded the Clinton Administration with bizarre conspiracy theories like Troopergate and attempting to hand over the USA to the UN have all but dried up in this, the turning of the tide.  Now, claims the article, should be The Right’s crowning hour of attack towards the liberals and the Left as we stand on the brink of an African-American prez with a quasi-Muslim name.  However, like the Grinch from the tip top of Mount Crumpet , I think the Democrats are actually upset that they cannot hear the cries of the Whos down in Whoville. 

This got me thinking.  Of course my obvious answer to the article was that the Right has no need to bash the Left when we’ve got two candidates who, up until recently, have been slugging it out against each other far better than the Right ever could.  When this Democratic title bout started, all that most people could say about Barrack was that he was black, young and possibly too inexperienced, and yet could still possibly be what this country needed.  Hillary, in the process of dragging up more and more dirt, misinterpreted words, and strange and new angles to undercut her advisory, also made herself out to be exactly what her critics claimed and what her supporters attempted so hard to conceal:  an overly-ambitious bitch who will spend ridiculous amounts of money creating new problems in the wake of focusing on current ones.  …and meanwhile the GOP giggled in delight.  To note, in middle schools around the country, that type of woman is referred to as ‘drama’. 

Still, maybe there is more under this seemingly obvious and somewhat calm exterior.  So I’ve been toting around another angle, however; and this one may have some merit, if not entirely correct.  Let us take President Bush for a moment.  GW was elected by the popular vote, but has never enjoyed for more than a red hot New Orleans ’ minute of popular support, always playing to the tune of approval ratings flushing themselves lower and lower.  How then does a man which the country loathes get elected and then re-elected President?  The answer is the simple, and not surprisingly the reason that I voted for him both times: the alterative was perceivably worse.  

I know that Pro-Bush people (also known as the State of Texas ) couldn’t have been happier that the Democratic Party put up two such boobs against their boob.  At some point, I’m sure the GOP thought that the liberals would bring in a ringer, but to their own detriment, they never did.  Therein lies the learning point…

To look back, during the nineties, Clinton made a number of radical directions with a country who was only recently learning how to play in a world without the Cold War.  Of course at that time the American Hardliners were a bit shaken and looking for conspiracies – they’d been doing it for the last fifty years!   Clinton may not have been a full-blown commie, but he sure as heck wasn’t the model American that was set forth from CIA propaganda to fight an incursion of the Reds.  This, as well as Black Hawk Down, lying under oath, and not killing Osama Bin Ladin when he had the chance may have also had something to do with the GOB being on fire for eight years… or it just might have been Rush on pills and Newt’s hair enraging the Congress.  Who can tell?

The Republicans themselves are coming off a horrible eight year stretch.  To keep themselves going would mean that they would have to throw a cleaner, moderate, more well-spoke face on one savior of a candidate, sink a shit-load of money into him, and even then it would be a crapshoot.  No one on the Right is blind enough to miss the rats leaving the oval office.  How then to bow out gracefully?  McCain.  The War Hero.  The Sacrificial Lamb.

While the GOP hasn’t had the most bang up past eight years, the eight years prior to that were under extreme controversy (and still are) as well.  Neither of the parties in our glorious two-party system are really toting the Holy Grail around going into this mess that is the next four years.  So to the question at hand: why is the Right so quiet?  Because they want to lose.

McCain is the only current Republican politician in Washington who could possibly steer this ship away from the rocks if he for some chance gets elected, but even then, it’s dodgy at best and with so many low-odds, I don’t think anyone really expects him to win.  Nonetheless, he’s only spending a fraction of what Hillary or Barrack have spent and some how he’s still riding the wave.  I think the way that those people in the Republican camp are looking at this election is that it’s a win-win situation.  If McCain gets elected, it’s the obvious win.  But the irony is that if he loses, the Republicans could potentially win bigger.  The Democrats could very likely not get anything done in four years (please see our Congress as a working model of Democratic efficiency).  The Republicans learned from Bush that sucking hard leaves the American voter looking for an alternative, any alternative, in the coming election, and in a two-party system that makes it easy as taking money from an oil lobbyist.

Granted, it’s a long short, and who knows if it can even be down once it comes down off the drawing board.  Hell, maybe its not even on the drawing board, who knows?  Maybe its just old-fashioned American politics where one greedy biased old man is up against a young reformist who is just as greedy and biased but just has a better smile.  At least that seems to be trendy.   

I’ve often written (though not lately) that irony is a motherfucker.  A step up from that would be coincidence, and a bit further along would be fate.  The later is often hard to pin down as it is easy the most subjective of the three, but once faithfully aligned with events at hand, it is easily the most profound and distinct.  While sharing an encounter with fate with another person, the perception is likely to become dubious and nonchalant.  Still, attempts must be made as fate rarely appears outside of the first person.

As some of you may know, I’m a bit of an antique junkie.  Not in the aspect that your grandmother may be; a house full of knick-knacks, ceramic rabbits and a plaster Jesus in the front lawn.  Rather, like all things that I am inclined to participate in, the realm of the logical rules the roost.

To further explain, when I bought my house nearly two years ago, I had no furnishings whatsoever.  So, like any new home owner, I set out to acquire some.  Retail stores proved to have a selection, which could be broken down into two categories: really nice furniture that is outside my budget and outside my lifestyle parameters, and reasonably priced stuff that was void of any personality or style.  While mircofibers are practical, they are not really what I would prefer to have in my living room.  After all, as a bachelor, if someone spills on the sofa, it’s more than likely my own fault, which makes the negation of such accidents directly in my own hands should I consider something outside of a crayola-standard trim.

Hence, I found antiques to be a suitable alternative.  Contrary to contemporary standards, Americans, at one point, built things to last.  Many so-called antique furnishings and interior decoration are not only durable, but also fashionable when appropriated with any degree of style.  Best of all, they are usually anywhere from a third to half the price of retail sets.  So until I can afford or own a bedroom large enough to fit that king-size uber-ornate bedroom set straight from the showroom window, I’ll continue to keep myself content with these subtle, practical treasures.

But I digress.  Anyway, last year in the days leading up to latest “work trip”, I was browsing around some of my favorite stores and came across an interesting find.  It was a plaster bust of woman with her eyes frozen in mid-blink and her hair matted down in old-fashioned bobbed curls.  Upon closer examination of the statue, I noted the tag: Penelope - $85.

At the time I thought, that’s a bit much for a head, so to speak.  Furthermore, what would I do with such piece of home décor?  So I opted against the purchase, captivating as it may have been, and moved on with my day.  Months later in Central Asia , I found myself occasionally lamenting my decision not to bring Penelope back home with me.  Like the girl in the check out line that you wish you had talked to for weeks after the event, I couldn’t help but feel like I had missed some sort of opportunity.  To be sure, this was not a daily woe (I was not quite that far gone), but rather a time-to-time consideration.  Whenever my mind would wander back to my simple home and what simple things awaited me there, I regard Penelope’s absence.

Months past, and I returned to those same stores last weekend on a lark.  I could not help but think of Penelope in the way the one thinks of an ex-girlfriend who may still be waiting for him at the corner of the same smoky bar where they first met, like a scene from an old black and white film or trashy romance novel.  I curbed my enthusiasm, maintaining my usual approach going from shop to shop up the thin street, though my giddy anticipation may have been apparent to some.  Finally, the shop loomed in front of me.  What if Penelope was not there?  What if she had not waited for me, or more likely, someone else had stolen her away.  Both were equally possible as I had laid no claims to her.  However, as a turned the first corner, there sat Penelope, her eyes still closed; coy, patient… and marked down to fifty-five dollars.

I’m pleased to say that Penelope and I are very happy.  She’s been living with me for the past month now, and while she doesn’t say a whole lot, she is a very good listener.  I try to be a gentleman, considerate, and run as many of the household decisions by her as possible.  As you can imagine, she is usually very supportive.  I feel like we’ve known each other forever as I can sometimes tell what she’s thinking without her even saying a word.  I’m not sure if it’s too early to say, but I think Penelope and I are going to have a long and loving relationship.  I can’t wait for my parents to meet her.