My admiration for anyone who blogs politics goes far beyond pedestrian respect. It staggers my mind because there isn’t enough medication in a Pfizer factory to sedate my yearning to burn things down when I get heated about government behavior or taste the frenzy of a debate examining family values and social priorities. “Normal” folks, good people, warm-hearted, gracious Americans, citizens that care about the future, the world and their friends are not immune to the exhilaration of someone prodding their political buttons. Pacifists and militants alike, when it comes to politics, they all become volatile soapbox orators, scathing scribes with passion fueling their righteous fightin’ words. I love that. I love anything that ignites conversation which may or may not lead to one side cracking (because once outbursts are borne from emotions, all the political rhetoric in the world won’t validate whatever point was being made). Social arguments allow the blood of communication to flow unfettered and despite opposite sides of fences or polarized beliefs, heavy-duty debates bring unlikely people together for a common vent session.
Regretfully, I’ve yet to find the courage to really get down and dirty in a political debate. Particularly because I waffle on all sorts of things. Capital punishment, abortion, torture, war, the poor, minorities, whitey, big government, small towns, just to name a few. It’s like discussing astronomy: “Oh, you say Pluto is no longer classified as a planet? Well, now I have very little confidence in the “fact” that the Pistol Star of the Quintuplet Cluster is truly a blue hypergiant that emits more energy in 20 seconds than our sun produces in a year.” My question is, is our understanding about interstellar dust and luminous blue variables any more accurate than what we think we know about tribal clashes in Africa and an intifada in Mesopotamia? Probably not.
In our wonderful community of complaints, we all got something that sticks in our craw, legislators, media pundits, commander in chiefs, politics has no limit to the frustration it brings to the fine folks who give a damn. Whether it’s erudite conversation or backwoods porch bitching, my hat is wholeheartedly off to bloggers who eat politics for breakfast.
Problem is, if it were me, I’d likely be holed up in the basement making vyacheslav cocktails by noon. Colon, right parenthesis.