Sugar Daddy carves his jack-o-lantern

“I’m going to make a John Kitzhaber pumpkin.  That means it’ll steal kids’ candy and give it to retired Oregonians.”

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So SD and I filled out our ballots last night.  (Oregon conducts all its elections by mail.)  I try not to be emotionally invested in elections, as they usually disappoint me.  Of course, I am always practically invested in elections whether I want to be or not; unfortunately, I have not yet figured out a way to avoid that.  I’ll let you know if I do.  I think it will involve colonizing the moon.  Secretly.  So maybe I won’t let you know if I figure it out.  I’ll have to “get back to you” on that.

Anyway, there I was, all unemotional-like, filling in the bubbles for my preferred candidates and thinking, “No chance in hell…no chance in hell…no chance in hell…” and then coming to all the state measures and thinking, “NO! NO! NO!”–knowing that all of them would probably pass anyway–and I realized that voting Republican in Oregon is the triumph of hope over experience.  Hope is a little like emotional investment.  Technically, I should not approve of it.  But I’m still practically invested, so I can’t abandon all hope.  Plus, I like Oregon.  Nay, I love Oregon.  You can’t give up hope for someone you love.  And so I vote.  I am emotionally invested.  (But only minimally.)

Senator Ron Wyden is running for re-election.  He’s going to win, handily.  Which is too bad, but, you know, fine.  Whatever.  I only mention it because I like his campaign slogan, even if I don’t like him.  It’s “Ron Wyden:  Different.  Like Oregon.”  I like it for its ambiguity.  It’s inspired me to create some slogans of my own, in the event that I ever run for office myself.  Here are the ones I have so far:

“Madhousewife:  Crazy.  Like Oregon.”

“Madhousewife:  Half-Baked.  Like Oregon.”

“Madhousewife:  Unemployed.  Like Oregon.”

The thought of running for office reminds me of a thread I was reading yesterday at Feminist Mormon Housewives, in which one commenter referred to NOW as a “radical feminist” organization, and someone else responded that NOW was actually quite moderate.  I don’t endorse either statement, but I was just thinking about how “moderate” doesn’t really mean anything anymore.  As near as I can tell, when people call you “moderate,” what they really mean is “I do not think you are evil or a complete effing idiot.”  To wit, people often say I am a “moderate” even though I share political positions with conservatives they think are evil and/or complete effing idiots, because they like me personally and thus do not project their worst fears onto me.

“Madhousewife:  Likes rainbows.  Doesn’t kill puppies.”

Speaking of people who are evil and/or complete effing idiots, I find myself unduly emotionally invested in the Senate race in California between Carly Fiorina and Barbara Boxer.  I lived in California for a long time, but I always considered it a temporary resting place.  I am only practically invested in the outcome of California elections in an indirect way, as are we all.  California seems destined for self-destruction, but what can you do?  I don’t know.  Not my problem.  I have Ron Wyden.  Like Oregon.

No, the Fiorina-Boxer race is totally personal.  I just can’t freaking stand Barbara Boxer.  It makes me crazy that she keeps getting re-elected because she’s just…so…stupid.  I don’t feel this way about other American politicians (except for John Edwards, and now that he’s out of public life, I’m more or less over him).  I may disagree with them, but they don’t make me seethe with anger over their moronitude.  We don’t even need to talk about Ms. Fiorina’s relative merits or demerits.  I would vote for a box of rocks over Sen. Boxer.  (With nose unheld.  Heck, run a single rock against her and I would probably contribute to its campaign fund.)  Not only does she give feminism a bad name, but she is the only public figure who has ever made me feel embarrassed to be a woman.  If she wins yet another election, I will be depressed.  For, like, a couple days.  Then I’ll go back to ignoring her as best I can for the next six years.  It’s what I do.

Unlike some Republicans, I am not counting my Senate and House seats and governorships before they’re hatched.  Regardless of what happens tomorrow, my life is going to stay more or less the same.

“Madhousewife:  Still going to hell in a handbag.  Like Oregon.”

You may be wondering, “Is this a special edition of my gentle giraffe blog?  Is she coming out of self-imposed semi-retirement just to make idle chatter about the election, or is she back for good?  Can I look forward to more of this inane commentary on a daily or every-couple-days basis?  Dare I hope???”  Well, dare you?  DARE YOU?

The answer, my friends, is too complex to get into here.  I mean, I would try, but Girlfriend is eating Halloween candy for breakfast, and I haven’t had a shower yet.  I’m going to see my psychiatrist today, for the first time in, like, a year.  It should be interesting.  Maybe I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.  Except that I’m probably going to be busy tomorrow.  Maybe I’ll tell you Wednesday.  Then we can also talk about the election and how much I don’t care about it.  I know you can hardly contain your excitement.  Well, just don’t even try.  Effuse, gentle readers, effuse!

“Madhousewife:  She’s back.  You know, more or less.”

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