I just inventoried the current crop of candidates (nice alliteration, Barbara) for the U.S. Presidency. Ever since this tedious campaign cycle started in the last millennium, I’ve found myself at a strange remove from all those people. No surprise that the herd of Republicans leaves me queasy. What’s worrisome, though, is that generally speaking, I don’t care a donkey’s rump about any of the Dem candidates either. Okay. John Edwards gave me a big, friendly hug a few years ago when I met him at a political rally. So, we have history, John and I. Apart from that . . . urk. >>Read more.
Now y’all know I have long nurtured a deep and abiding hope that Al Gore would come off the bench at the eleventh hour to run for re-election. I believe the eleventh hour is drawing nigh.
Do I think Gore is perfect? I do not. Do I believe he is unflawed? No. Is he our best hope as America enters group therapy after BushCo I and II? Yes, he is.
But here’s the thing. Some folks say Al Gore can serve us better doing what he’s doing now. After all, he’s the world leader in trying to ramp up urgency about resolving climate change issues that have human causes.
Others are detractors. Some of them champion other candidates, some don’t like Gore, and some just detract out of habit.
Finally, there are those who say Gore won’t run because his life is good and why would he mess with it? I would say that the man was born to be president. He has grown into the job, particularly over the past seven agonizing years.
And it’s that “grown into the job” thing that jiggled my wattles. I haven’t seen much of Mr. Gore lately. Not since that world-wide environmental extravaganza. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what he’s thinking. He hasn’t consulted me which is painful to admit, but there you have it. Makes me feel depressed and discouraged, verging on hopelessness.
The worst part is that I don’t know if he’s been losing weight, which is supposedly the bellwether on his readiness to run.
This morning, I stood before my bathroom mirror and took stock of my own girth. It's not a pretty picture. For years, I blamed it on post-pregnancy weight gain, but my baby is now 40. Fine then. Well, probably I piled on the pounds when I quit smoking. In 1973. Whatever.
Today, I stared at the chubby Swede in my mirror. And I decided I really must do something about IT. "IT" is code for parting with extra layers of f-a-t.
I can lose weight, you know. I’ve done it before. Got pretty bony whilst divorcing Husband Guy. And again when someone I loved very much fell ill and died. I’m unwilling to endure either of those again.
So I’ll have to shed lard the old-fashioned way. The lonely life of torturous deprivation. And in my case, it’s particularly grim, given that Housemate Guy has the metabolism of a cheetah and weighs exactly the same as he did in college, when he was poster guy for perfect height/weight balance. So I’m definitely on my own in the shrink-down department.
But wait! I don’t have to be alone. No. I don’t have to endure the terrible isolation of swearing off second helpings, Dairy Queen Blizzards and hot, buttered popcorn. I don’t have to do this alone, and neither does Al Gore.
Mr. Gore, where are you? Can you hear me? Please listen! If shedding pounds is all that stands between you and candidacy, then I am your woman. (NOTE to Tipper: Be not afraid. This is a totally platonic thing and it has an end time.)
I beg you, Al. I entreat you to accept my pounds-off solidarity offer. I am totally serious about this.
To help up the ante, I am extending this invitation to other folks who a.) would like to shed some bulk and b.) fervently hope that Al Gore will run for re-election. Oh, fine then, and c.) that he will make a brilliant choice of a running mate this time.
You can sign on here at the Clothesline at any time! Subject line: Slim down with Al. Or help me create a catchy tagline.
I am so serious about this that I am about to go step on the scale. Yes, I am going to weigh in. It is begun.
Run, Al, run!! We desperately need you. Also, it’s good exercise.