The amazing crossroads of democracy and infomercials.

When I was six years old, Michael Dukakis and George H.W. Bush were in the midst of their presidential campaigns. A week before the election, Fields Road Elementary School held a mock election. Purely an exercise in finding out how our parents were going to vote. Proudly I stepped up to the table and took a slip of paper in my hands. For weeks and months I had listened to my grandmother and mother talk about the evils of Bush and the republican party, and based on their influence, I checked the box next to Dukakis's name. In the end, Bush won the mock election at my elementary school and went on to win the general election.

Flashforward four years, at the age of ten I was still blissfully unaware of how the political machine really worked. I loved simplicity and words. One night when I was laying on the living room couch with my grandmother watching the evening news, I made the statement, "democrat sounds ugly. I would rather be a republican, it sounds pretty." My staunchly democratic grandmother, who frequently told stories of the glory of FDR, the tragedy of MLK's assassination, and how she vomitted when Bobby Kennedy was shot, did not proceed to lecture me on the evils of the republican party, but instead made fun of me for my strange way of choosing a political party.

As I grew up, I began to learn more about the world around me. I came to the conclusion that while republican is still a nicer sounding word, the democratic party, for all of its faults, was much truer to who i was becoming as a person. As I've grown up working and the living in the hearts of two democratic cities, my liberalism, although more moderate than some of my dearest friends, is now inescapable.

Tonight I watched the first night of the Democratic National Convention. I watched it on PBS because CNN and MSNBC anchors irritate me. I found myself engrossed in the speeches, captivated by the rhetoric, and completely obsessed with everything democratic. It truly is the nation's biggest infomerical and I couldn't turn it off. I cheered for Ted Kennedy, and chanted with Nancy Pelosi. I teared up at Michelle Obama.

Trite as the speeches may be, tonight I fell for it all. The great thing about an election year is that it's okay to get caught up every now and again, hoping that this time your man will win and things might get a little better. Even when you know it's just that place where democracy meets infomercial.

Cat Calls from Cars

I had this whole post written about why women blame other women for men's mistakes, but blogger crashed as i was posting it, and saved it at the very beginning. I have no interest in re-writing it. Instead I will write about my walk home.

I will never undersatnd why men yell at women through car windows, but it's incredibly popular to do in philadelphia. Screaming "nice tits" at a woman and driving by does not make a woman want to sleep with you. I know that's a shock, but seriously guys there are better ways to get a woman to like you. While misguided, usually the shouts are complimentary. They might be degrading or slightly offensive, but the intent seems to be to compliment a part of your body that these men find attractive.

Tonight I walked home from Doobies at about 1 a.m. Not exactly the smartest thing I could have done, but it was broad st. and well lit, so i decided that it would be okay. (I didn't have cash for cab fare, and there were no busses passing by.) As I was walking a silver volkswagon station wagon passed by me, and a male voice screamed out the window "fat-ass whore". Since I don't know anyone who drives a silver volkswagon station wagon, it had to be a stranger. This insult surprised and offended me, not because of the insult itself, but how personal the insult was. It also gave me great information on exactly what type of person decided to yell it.

"Fat ass": That's easy enough. Clearly, someone who observes well. It doesn't take much to see that I have a rather well defined bedonkadonk. I was built with childbearing hips and a love of chocolate, it is only natural that my tuchas is wide. Nothing I wear hides it. It's just there. In addition to having stunning observational skills, i will surmise that this man is caucasian. Now, I don't mean to racially profile, because most men i have dated have been white and fans of my larger bedonkadonk, but sterotypically white men like their women with large boobs and no ass. Everytime a man of african-american or latino decent has referred to my "fat ass" it has been with admiration or at least an appreciation of my curves. So to start with, we have a white man with good observational skills.

"Whore": This stung quite a bit more. I was walking alone, yes, but i was wearing an ankle-length skirt and a tee-shirt. If anything, I looked like an orthodox jew. Nothing I was wearing radiated whore. And further more, I don't think even if someone knows me that I radiate the term whore. I mean I am a woman with healthy view of sexuality, so maybe "slut-muffin", but not whore. Give me slightly more credit than that. So the only thing I can then infer about this mystery man, is that he was drunk after being recently dumped by his cheating girlfriend. The drunk would lower the inhibitions enough to shout at random women on the street, while the recently dumped due to infiedelity would explain the "whore" and anger.

So instead of being upset and offended by this white, observational, recently dumped drunk man I actually feel sorry for him. He clearly doesn't know how to deal with his feelings, and if he continues this path of heavy drinking and insulting women... he will never get laid again.

Damn shame.... I think.