Attempting to Comprehend the Tea

If you don't read Mark Morford on a regular basis, you should:

In my calmer moments of euphoric benevolence, when the wine has opened nicely and the light is streaming in just so, I sometimes find myself awash in unexpected feelings of kindness and generosity aimed in a very unexpected direction.

Do you know this feeling? Does it ever slide into you like a warm breeze in summertime, like a hot knife into your chilled and jaded heart?

Do you ever feel, that is, a wave of empathy for the various egomaniacal, powermongering doorstops of America, the wonks and politicos, crusaders and congressional chyme, thinking, "Oh you poor, poor thing, there there now, it will all be over soon, you'll be dead in a relatively short time and no one will care anymore about that Very Ridiculous Thing you think is so mandatory to the lifeblood of American ignorance and pain?"

I do. Well, sometimes.

Behold, Sharron Angle, Glenn Beck, Jim DeMint. Behold the endless parade of Tea Party dinkbuttons, Nazis and homophobes and God-fearing yoga haters, oh my.

I sip my wine and sigh. What deeply unhappy lives these people must lead, no? So small and cloistered, panicky and scripted, entirely cut off from anything resembling the hot thrum of raw, sticky, swear-worded life as you and I know it, as they shuffle like chilled meatpacks from air conditioned SUV to stuffy Holiday Inn conference room, threadbare high school auditorium to sparsely attended right-wing nutball Midwestern church, retirement home, cotton-candy fairground.

There they are, lurching around the podium, stroking that baby, trying to rally the troops, working like 10 flavors of desperate hell to mean something to someone, somewhere, knowing full well what they're selling is a show, a sham, as they dance and swagger like a doll on a string.

Compassion. That's what we're talking about here. Empathy. A modicum of understanding. Let us, at the very least, try.

My emphasis for the mirth-inducing lines.

I have to admit that I never thought of the term dinkbuttons since I prefer teahadists, but I have to admit that it fits the type very well, indeed.

Apologies to Mr. Morford for the extended cut from his column and I hope you'll click here to read the rest.

It gets better...

Previous | Home | Next