1.  No more political ads

2.  No more political ads

3.  No more political ads

Sugar Daddy and I have agreed that we will not have the TV or radio on tonight.  We just can’t stand the suspense.  Plus, we find election coverage annoying.  Wake me up when it’s over, kids.  Which reminds me, Doonesbury is funny today.

The relief I will feel after this thing is finally settled will rival my post-childbirth euphoria.  Wait–no, it won’t.  It will be a distant second, but second all the same.  It isn’t just the presidential race I’m sick of.  That’s actually been way down on the list of stuff that’s nauseating me.  We’ve had a particularly nasty congressional campaign in my district, and then there are all those infernal state measures.  Here in
Oregon they really try to give you a guilt trip over last-minute voting, but it took me until this weekend to figure out how I wanted to vote on these dumb things.

Take Measure 35, which puts a cap on non-economic awards in malpractice lawsuits.  My inner libertarian says, “Government screwing around with my fundamental right to sue the pants off anyone who messes with me or my family?  That’s messed up!”  My inner pragmatist and my inner hippie have formed an unlikely coalition that says if setting a cap lowers malpractice insurance premiums and keeps doctors from leaving rural
Oregon, maybe it’s okay.  The question is, will it lower malpractice insurance premiums?  The answer:  Yes, it will.  No, it won’t.  Yes, it will.  No, it won’t.  Yes, it will.  No, it won’t.  To which my inner pragmatist replies, “Shut up and leave me alone!”  And my inner hippie says, “Can’t we go back to talking about medical marijuana?”

But wait–we did talk about medical marijuana this election.  It may not be right, but I actually don’t have strong philosophical objections to medical marijuana.  I just want to say that so you have a context for what I’m about to say next, which is that I can’t take these pro-Measure 33 (expanding the medical marijuana law) people seriously.  It might be a junior-high mentality, but every time one of these people comes on TV and talks so passionately about needing their marijuana and if we don’t give them their marijuana, we’re just a bunch of meanies, I think, “Heh.  They said marijuana.”  I know, I’m a terrible human being.  It’s all those years I spent in
Eugene.

Then there’s Measure 38, which abolishes Saif, the state-run worker’s compensation insurance company.  Let me tell you, I could not make heads or tails of this measure until about 72 hours ago.  Even then my grip on the issue was a little shaky.  My inner libertarian, of course, said, “State-run insurance company?  That’s messed up!”  My inner pragmatist and inner hippie (sort of the Orrin Hatch and Ted Kennedy of my ideological senate) had a more “nuanced” take on the subject.  In other words, they were totally confused, but on the same side.  I think.

I have a dear friend in McMinnville who was my roommate before we both got married.  Back in the day, we were both Democrats.  I was a fairly liberal Democrat, back in the day, by Republican standards, anyway.  She and I don’t usually discuss politics in any depth since I switched political ideologies on her.  It’s not that it’s a sore point, but really, what are you going to say?  We’re good enough friends and know each other well enough to know that our party affiliations signify little in the grand scheme of things.  She knew me before I became a right-wing extremist, and since I used to be one of those tax-and-spend liberals like her, each of us knows that the other one is not evil or stupid.  (Incidentally, please don’t get on my back about those epithets, kids.  It’s called diffusing a highly emotional situation with humor.  It may be sick, but it’s not wrong.  Not very wrong, anyway.)

Still, she called me on Friday to ask if I really was going to vote for so-and-so, and I replied, yes, are you really going to vote for so-and-so-so, and she replied, yes.  There was this pause and then she said, “How can you vote for so-and-so?”  Given that I’m not evil or stupid, my vote really did not make sense to her.  She did her best to try to influence my decision in the opposite direction, but it didn’t work because I’m a closed-minded jerk.  Just kidding!  No, we just see the same issue very differently.  And that’s okay.  Because regardless of who “wins” today, the world will keep revolving and we will still be friends.

Which reminds me of a story, back from the day when I was a left-wing nutjob (see above note about the epithets) and I had a dear, dear friend who was a right-wing wacko (not unlike myself these days).  She was trying to understand why I would support a certain so-and-so for a certain high office (wink wink), and we got into quite a heated discussion in which we just went round and round about the same old crap, which got so utterly tiring for me that I finally said in exasperation, “Let’s just stop talking about this.  You just don’t understand me and you’re never going to, so let’s forget it.”  There was a very long pause, after which she finally said, “Well.  Thank you so much for your confidence in me.”  Ouch.  Ouch and double-ouch.  I do believe–at least I hope–that was the last time I said something so thoughtless to a friend.

Fortunately, since each of us knew that the other was not evil or stupid, we got over it in the next two minutes.  My friend told me a story, which might be apocryphal but who cares, about James Stewart and Henry Fonda, who were very good friends but also had very different political views; one day they got into such a big argument over something political that they ended up in a fistfight.  But after that they were okay.  Whenever political conversations started reaching that boiling point, one of us would suggest having a fistfight, and that would just make us laugh and change the subject.  (That’s the way chicks handle their ideological disagreements.  When they’re friends.)

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