This photo has nothing to do with this post, but I offer it as a soothing, if dubbed, image from a more perfect world.
Tonight, July 2, we went to an early dinner with friends, then to see Michael Moore's Sicko. The friends said they'd been listening to the news on Scooter in the car on the way over, but I assumed they meant the earlier news, that he was off to prison.
Sicko was funny and informative and infuriating. And while it didn't make me yearn for a new life in Sarnia, Ontario, it sure made France look even more alluring than usual. Why do parents tell you that you'll wish you'd practiced the piano more when you grow up? Why don't they tell you that you'll really wish you'd practiced French -- or Italian or Portuguese so you can move to another country when you grow up?
"This is one way sick nation," I was thinking as we headed home in the sticky night. But I had no idea. Read on, please.
I clicked on the C-Line to see if Barb, god-love-her, had posted anything new. And that's when I saw the latest Scooter news. Sucker punch. I didn't see this coming, at least not so soon. I thought he'd give us a few days to relish the possibilities of Scooter behind bars, or better, Scooter squealing, or to mull over the consequences of a Scooter pardon.
But I should have known better. This is Dick Cheney, this is Karl Rove. They are as shameless and masterful at protecting their own hides (while screwing their own nation) as they are criminal and inept at governing.
The Bush reign is a nightmare all right, complete with its cascading couldn't-get-worse moments. (BTW, just looked up the origins of nightmare. "A mare was a demon that descended on sleepers, paralyzing and suffocating them, and having sexual relations with them." Hmm, seems to fit. We've been asleep, paralyzed and fucked, all at once.)
Michael Moore says in Sicko that the American people are afraid of their government, but in France the government is afraid of the people. And he shows the French taking to the streets, again and again. Why aren't we doing this? Oh, I forgot, the asleep and paralyzed thing.
But also because I'm not sure what to do anymore, and if we did march would it make any difference?
This July 4th there is no independence I want to celebrate. There are no little flags sticking out of my petunia pots, no boasting song I want to sing, no sparklers I want to wave. And there are no explosions in the sky over some shrinking midwestern lake that I want to see. Plenty of those over the killing fields of Afghanistan and Iraq.
Nope, this Independence Day I think I'll spend all day on the phone, as Barb suggests, and dial the White House, maybe 50 times, once for every state, and then I'll dial my senators 50 times each and then I'll start in on the congress until my fingers are exploding like bloody roman candles in red white and blue.