I recently participated in a discussion on Feminist Mormon Housewives about Hillary Clinton and Mitt Romney and the bias each of them has to overcome because of people’s preconceived notions blah blah, and I realized that we must all be eager for a new administration because it is way, way too early to be having these conversations.  Maybe we’d just rather be thinking about anything but the war. 

I remembered that one of my two friends I willingly discuss politics with was in town last month and I completely forgot to ask her who she liked in the Democratic primary.  (She’s a Democrat.  Not only is she a Democrat, but she’s a Democrat who remembers when I was a Democrat.  My other political-discussion friend is a Republican, but a Republican who also remembers when I was a Democrat.  I wonder if that has anything to do with my relative comfort in discussing uncomfortable issues with them.)  We must have been too busy talking about stuff that matters.  But I’m still curious, especially since she is probably more enthusiastic about this primary race than primary races of yore.  She used to live in Oregon, too, and always ended any discussion of who she liked in the primary with “But it doesn’t matter, because Oregon is a politically insignificant state, so who cares?”  But she has since moved to a state with a February primary, so she actually gets to choose among multiple candidates.  I can’t imagine how exciting that must be.

Unlike every other state in the Union, Oregon has decided not to move its primary to February 5.  And good for us.  Moving your primary up just to get attention is really so sad and pathetic.  And it’s not like anyone cares about Oregon anyway.  We’ve got, like, seven whole electoral votes.  Which I guess is nothing to be ashamed of, except when you’re standing next to states with twelve, fifteen, twenty-four, or thirty-three electoral votes.  Then you resemble the flat-chested Spring Break reveler flashing the “Girls Gone Wild” camera crew only to end up on the cutting-room floor.  Why did you even bother signing that waiver?  You weren’t even that drunk.  Where is your dignity?  Anyway, I’m not really sure when Oregon’s presidential primary is, but I do know it’s long after everyone else has been there, done that and started their Christmas shopping.  By the time the 2008 campaign train rolls into town on its creaky wheels, there will only be one candidate aboard, and hopefully he doesn’t ask me to sign any waivers.

In lieu of talking to my Democrat friend about the Democratic primary, I have to make do with speculating about who my 1992 self would vote for.  It would either be Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton.  I’m sure I would be torn.  I would console myself by saying that it doesn’t matter since my 1992 self lives in California and California holds its primary in the late spring also, but then someone would have to remind me that this is 2008, hello, and California now has a February 5 primary, so I need to make up my mind already.  My 1992 self can’t handle the pressure.  She defers to my 1996 self, who initially favors Chris Dodd but ultimately sides with Hillary, only to regret it a year and a half later.  Hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

What did any of that mean?  I don’t know.

I had a dream the other night that I was holding a fundraising party for Rudy Giuliani.  People kept saying, “I can’t believe you’re not supporting Mitt Romney,” and I kept saying, “I like Rudy.”  During my waking hours I am not currently for any particular candidate, though my subconscious obviously leans toward Rudy.  I do like Rudy.  I’m a sucker for that rock-star quality, you know.  I’m not particularly against any candidate either (in the Republican primary, at least), though I am not as enthusiastic about Romney.  The conversation on FMH reminded me that I do harbor a bias against Mormon men, whom I tend to think of as old-fashioned, patronizing and chauvanistic.  It’s really not a fair assumption.  For every patronizing and chauvanistic Mormon man I’ve met, I know ten who are not that way.  (If only I could have married one of those.  Just kidding!) 

Still, the stereotype persists, even in my extraordinarily fair-minded psyche.  Also, there’s the fact that the beautiful Mitt Romney and his beautiful wife and beautiful family come across as Sickeningly Perfect Mormon types.  If people voted for W because they thought he seemed like a nice guy to have a beer with, I don’t think Romney stands much of a chance of connecting with the Common Man.  Not just because he doesn’t drink beer, but because he seems so well-scrubbed and polished that he must be Not One Of Us.  I have to keep reminding myself of the many cookie-cutter Mormons I’ve known who turned out, in fact, to be Real People–individuals with their own thoughts and opinions and struggles.  (They just have better dental plans.)  As my husband has said of many a Perfect Mormon Family, “They’re not as innocent as they look.”  And he means it in a good way. 

I don’t have any sort of opinion on Fred Thompson, as I can’t even tell whether the cat is running or not.  Put on an apron, Fred, or step away from the grill.  Speaking of which, I need to decide what we’re eating for dinner.  My 1992 self doesn’t eat meat.  My 1996 self says she ate chicken the other day and it made her sick.  My 2007 dream self throws parties for presidential candidates and has them catered.  None of this is helping.  Have I mentioned that it’s 100 degrees outside?  If I served popsicles for supper, would that make me a bad person?

THIS JUST IN:  Springfield, Vermont has been named The Simpsons’ official hometown for The Simpsons Movie premiere (“hometown premiere,” that is).  Once again, Oregon has been dissed!  And Matt Groening is from Oregon.  Where’s the love? 

Oh, well, I’m planning to boycott the Simpsons movie anyway because I do not wish to see Bart’s full monty.  Really, who are these people drawing for?  So I’m not bitter or anything.

But still…Vermont?  Vermont?  Psh.