THERE ARE some things we will never understand. Death, for one. I overheard a woman in the drug store say: “He went in to the hospital yesterday and he was eating his supper and then he fell asleep and then he died. I don’t get it.”
She didn’t seem grief-stricken, just uncomprehending. (Why did it have to happen now?)
The paranoia that has seized the Republican Party is beyond my understanding. So is the physics of cord entanglement: how two power cords set separately in a briefcase become so intertwined in only a few hours. And why do you find the rudest people in first class? Passengers in steerage accept their misery with stoical grace; the privileged sit in a cold rage.
And then there is Washington. I maintain that Congress would do better work if it moved to Buffalo, New York, and the Honorables had to experience blizzards and snow-shovelling and cold weather, which stimulate intelligence – literacy, numeracy, and writing skills rise as you approach the Canadian border.
Nothing in the US constitution says that Congress could not convene in Buffalo.
The founding fathers intended the Senate to be a flowing fount of wisdom, but when you consider senators such as Saxby Chambliss and Jim Bunning, who look as if they have been banged on the head too many times, your faith in democracy is challenged severely.
Any legislative body in which 41 senators from rural states (representing 10 per cent of the population) can filibuster you to death is going to be on the verge of paralysis, no matter what.
Any time 10 per cent of the people can stop 90 per cent, it’s like driving a bus with a brake pedal for each passenger. That’s why Congress has a public approval rating of 25 per cent.
Healthcare is much too complicated for Congress. The issue should have been handed over to a commission of economists – let them draw up a plan and defend it and stand up to the ranters and rug-chewers. Let Congress do what it does best, uphold virtue and denounce self-interest and partisanship – and then go to lunch.
The Republican bulls remind me of an old coot who used to sit in my row in the Lutheran church, a guy who favoured plaid dress shirts and a string tie with a turquoise clasp who had an elaborate comb-over – a real piece of hair architecture.
He muttered to himself through the sermon and never put more than one dollar in the collection plate. I guessed that he attended for the sake of his wife, a plump lady who sat between him and me. What he truly dreaded every Sunday morning was the exchange of peace. To shake hands with people nearby and say “The peace of the Lord” did not come naturally to him.
I didn’t like it either. I was young and idealistic and thought those Lutherans had more than enough peace – what they needed was some slapping around, not hand-shaking. But I was amused by how wary the guy got when the peace was exchanged and ladies went gallivanting around the sanctuary, hugging, having meaningful moments.
He stood facing straight forward and wished everyone would keep their peace to themselves. I always leaned over to shake hands with his missus and he turned away, avoiding eye contact.
One day, the lady in front of me, turning to embrace me, lost her corsage. It fell at my feet and I looked for it and accidentally kicked it. I went to retrieve it and stepped past the plump lady and the coot turned, horror-stricken, to see me coming.
He tried to retreat but found his way blocked. My hair was a little long at the time and maybe he expected me to plant a major peace on him – and then he saw me bend and pick up the flower. He looked disgusted. It was what they call a transforming moment.
I had always looked down on him and here he was, upset, because he thought I was going to love him up. He stuck out his hand to fend me off and I shook it.
The way to pass healthcare is for the president to praise Republicans for their courage and compassion until he scares them to death and they let it pass. The way to fight these guys is to make them think you might like them. – (Tribune media service)