Signs

I have been trying, since Friday night, to have some sort of open mind about this whole presidential election. But it's just not working. It probably has a lot to do with my approach, which has been somewhat akin to the way I look at professional sports. When I sat down to watch the debate, I was wearing my "jersey": my Kelly green O'Bama shirt. We had pizzas and soft drinks, and sent the kids out of the room so we could focus on the competition. What competition?
No one ever showed me a final score, but both sides were quick to claim victory. The conventional wisdom espoused by the pundits suggested that Obama didn't win the debate, but McCain didn't lose it. Does that mean it was a tie? From where I was sitting, along with a roomful of bleeding heart liberal types, Barack scored early and often and appeared much more relaxed and presidential. John looked old.
I don't know what I expected to happen. This is the filter that I put in place months ago, and barring some ugly unforeseen revelation, I don't imagine that it will change much. Barack Obama was preaching to the choir in my living room. Every time John McCain invoked the past: Reagan, Kissinger, and anything connected to "victory" in Iraq, I felt the urge to turn off the television and go outside for some fresh air.
This morning I walked around the neighborhood with my son, to get a little fresh air and help him complete his science homework. Just around the corner, I saw that the guy on the corner has a "McCain-Palin" sign taped up in his window. I was a little surprised at first, since this is the only other Denver Bronco fan I have encountered outside of my house within the city limits of Oakland. Then I remembered the "Support Our Troops" sign that had been in the window where "McCain-Palin" had taken up residence. I wondered if I shouldn't limit my discussions with him to football for the next thirty-eight days.