When I grow up I want to write for Go Fug Yourself.
http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/go_fug_yourself/2006/01/random_fig_jemi.html
This goal has become even more urgent now that it’s clear I’m never going to make it as a debater. See, I had this unfortunate incident with Tango’s farrier yesterday. We started to “discuss” politics but the conversation quickly turned into the equivalent of me “careening into a bunch of folding chairs” and “sitting up all blind and shit”, and “things went horribly wrong from there”. Seriously. I totally lost my shit and went RAAAAAHHHHHH rather than making a single logical point. Instead of going blind, I went dumb. Serves me right for talking about inflammatory subjects with someone who has the ability to LAME my horse should he choose (which he wouldn’t, because despite our rather signal differences, ahem, Tango’s farrier is a fine, fine human being.)
All that to say, it seems calm, measured argument is not my strong suit. My line is more the hurling of insults while calling grown men “dude” with maximum irritation just before my head explodes. Because that’s the way one wins people over. Oh yes. Which political party wants to elect me for its next spokesperson?
I’m saddened that my ability to argue about things I care about hasn’t improved one whit since I was nine. Then I was freaking out about the best techniques for performing You Light Up My Life by Debbie Boone. (I was totally incapable of making my point on that issue, too. When people refused to hold up their pretend lighter at the right moment I’d just freak out and go home, vowing never to dance or sing romantic ballads again.)
Dear everyone: I promise not to talk about politics on this blog or in my personal life for a good long while. If I feel the urge, I’ll just put on the steam kettle and just let it squeal. Gives pretty much the same effect. And now I’m going to go and talk calmly to James why he needs to swing his arms out more when Debbie Boone sings “rolling at sea, adrift on the water.” “You see, you’re in the water before your life gets lit up. You’re swimming. Maybe drowning a bit. With your arms. Like THIS damn it! ARMS! WAVING! NOOOOOO! Not like that. Not waving! DROWNING! Damn. Forget it. I’m going to my room.”
