Mara!

Mara?

Neuroses? I’ve got neuroses. I’m a bitter, cynical, egomaniacal, self-deprecating hypocrite who trusts the hyperbole of the late Lester Bangs over the sagest moanings of her own junkie mother. Politics? That’s small potatoes, man. That’s nothing but ketchup on the double order of scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced, peppered and capped, as the Waffle Housers say it. I know nil, nothing about Atlanta politics, but with the right kind of eyes you can take that as a boon. I’m tabula rasa, man,  and jaded as I am, the Creative Loaf is like raisin toast to mine eyes that hath seen nothing but potato sandwich bread crusts for years.

Politics? It’s amusement, Ice-Capades for the carefully dressed with their carefully worded slogans, whether they be wily senators or drum-circling causeheads or just the average knowlittle-nik. Me, I like Ayn Rand and P.J. O’Rourke, Dr. Laura and Al Franken. I appeared on New York television during a fortuitous afternoon in August, 2004 dressed (with mask) as Richard Nixon as part of a publicity stunt put on by the LebowskiFest and Billionaires For Bush people. I listen to Fox News Radio and wore a shirt with a picture of Bush on it over the word LIAR! to vote in a rural western Kentucky elementary school during the presidential race of 2004. I was known to my college environmental law professor as a “bomb-throwing anarchist,” and like to credit myself with the total shaming of one of Flagstaff, Arizona’s mayoral candidates by calling his faux-rock tuchus out on not knowing the lyricist behind one of his so-called favorite songs, “All Along the Watchtower.” What does this prove? Maybe just that I’m a try-too-hard, too-eager, uncouth yippity pip who refuses to put her hand down and stop going “ooh ooh ooh pick me!” So yeah, I spose you could go with someone who knows more about Atlantan politics than that one time when y’all got burned down As Seen In That Movie With That Dreamy Clark Gable, but just remember what Mr. Thompson (he dead, man, he dead) said in “Better Than Sex” –

“The standard gets lower every year, but the scum keeps rising. A whole new class has seized control in the nineties: They call themselves ‘The New Dumb,’ and they have no sense of humor. They are smart, but they have no passion. They are cute, but they have no fun except phone sex and line dancing…. They are healthy and clean and cautious and their average life-span is now over 100 years (with women at 102 and men slightly under 100).”

For the love of all that’s holy and good and sparkling and spoon-danglin’ly wild-eyed, Mara, don’t let them hire one of those swine!!!

Just say the word.

Respectfully,