debilitating debate

I’m weary of references to Joes with surnames like Six-Pack and Plumber. I’ve had it with references to Main Street. I don’t live on Main Street. I don’t know anyone who can afford to live on Main Street.

I am exhausted by this dance, and so, so tired of hearing what is wrong with the other guy, which exercise generally only serves to underline the weaknesses of the owner of the pointing finger.

Tell me (which you have not, neither of you, though prompted many times) which of your expensive promises will be made to fall by the wayside because of the “bailout.”

Tell me if when you are elected you will pardon Bush and Cheney and the rest for their crimes. Tell me if you will revoke and disable the special powers Bush has installed for the man in the oval office.

It is called Campaign Rhetoric for a reason. Rhetoric it is, and that is all. It’s the smell of cooking coming from a secret kitchen, all full of wonderful promise. But the proof is in the eating, and we need be mindful that sometimes what is finally served at the table bears little resemblance to what was imagined, can be unpalatable and, worse, contain little to no actual nourishment.

c.