McCain’s “Suspension” of his campaign is an obvious attempt to put off accountability for the most dire economic crisis since the 1930’s – and take stock in his increasing vulnerability.  Though he did have time  to squeeze in an interview with Katie Couric last night, the Rove machine clearly sees no upside in letting The Maverick get in front of the country for a debate with that celebrity-drenched, elitist Barack Obama right now. He would have to explain his recent claims that the economy is sound, or his 90+% support of Bush’s economic policies, or his cheerleading a $500 billion war that has bankrupt the country’s financial and moral confidence. Those straight talkers need time to put lipstick on why their Republican Party has lost its moorings. If John were to speak now, Carl and co. might even have to choreograph a new dance past the failed intelligence-wire tapping-Abu Ghraib-Guatanamo-Attourney General gate-economic meltdown that have been the centerpieces of the Bush/Cheney/Republican legacy.

McCain’s campaign wants to manage the facts. Whether it’s puppeting Palin around for controlled “Sarah meets the world leaders” appearances while shielding her from the scrutiny of the nation and the press, or simply calling a “T.O.” on his campaign so they can regroup and figure out how to spin the next round and avert a polling disaster.

McCain claims he needs to go to Washington to help resolve the crisis. The nation has been waiting for two years for the Democratic and Republican nominees to stand face to face and answer questions about how they will lead.  This is the time for accountability, for true leadership. Now more than ever both parties owe us this.

While jobless claims rise, new home sales plummet, and the fed wants to borrow $700 billion to $1.3 trillion from the citizens of the united states, McCain chooses to speak to Katie Couric instead of us.

The Obama and Palin nominations are historic. But is it enough to wrench voters out of their homes? Engage them? Does anyone in either party remember the crimes and embarrassments brought upon us all in the last eight years? (Actually that would require us to remember the past and I don’t know about you, but that is just way too icky!) Is either Ticket willing to be honest with us about the profound economic and moral black holes we are vanishing into? No. Not enough people give a poop. In November they will simply pick a favorite flavor and pull the blue or red lever.

Sure the Republicans are fired up about the Barracuda, why not? If I were in that camp I’d be toddler-giddy about any new face that didn’t gaze blankly at us with those Rove-Cheney-Bush-McCain fish faces. But is Sarah going to win the election for the Republicans? No. It will be a Republican victory. Remember, Carl creeps around in that Straight-Talking bus. And his machine is brilliant at turning the public against people – not crafting a good candidate – simply destroying an opponent. So that anyone, even an incompetent, resolute fool can be elected twice.

To have a prayer, Obama’s got to rip the gloves off, lose the stale party-speak and the sad “Drill Baby Drill” concessions and talk to the avalanche of mistakes made by who? Not Bush/Cheney, but the Republican Party. If he doesn’t shed the Demo’s tired mantras – the Hawaiian’s gonna’ get crushed like a bug.

We are hurtling toward an election in which America will vote for their blue or red guy or gal. But is anyone really voting for America?

His tooth felt loose and he moved it with his tongue. This loose tooth-tongue-push was his favorite meditation. It killed the empty moments of the day.

She said nothing making his fascination greater. He relished her silence. The stone still mossy smoothness of her quite. She did not open her eyes. He wondered how many lifetimes they could spend here, human lives, or perhaps, simply dog years.

He asked the usual question of himself. Would she wake to find him repulsive? boring? Would his character loose its magnetic pull? This was the thing that could knock his feet from below the knees. At any moment he felt sure his face would plunge into the grassy knoll, tasting the dense black dirt in his teeth. There was even a horrific chance, however slim, that his body might follow, chasing his head oblivious in the descent.

She rolled over and moved the back of her hand against her cheek. This was a good sign. She had not lost interest, though he could sense the trajectory, threadbare, futile, and worn at the edges. He could not help himself, skirmishing wistfully back and forth between the painfully familiar themes of their lives together.

Her lips were dried, near cracking. He wanted to help her dry lips, coddle them, hold them in his arms. Instead he whimpered slightly and nestled his nose into her hips. Then, drawn to the point at which the hip became the leg, he inhaled deeply and traveled his face along the long log shape of her. This journey calmed him completely and he fell gracefully to a quiet sleep.

Her hair was wet. She had dipped into the sea while he rested. She was still beside him, her lips now moist and soft. He wanted to chew on them. devour her as completely as he could. She often allowed this, but tonight would be a hard sell.

She rolled over and moved the back of her hand against her cheek. This was a bad sign. She probably was dreaming of someone thicker, longer, more taught. He had none of that, just his longing and fascination with her every crevice, pitch and valley. He ran his finger from her big toe along the top of her leg. Her foot jumped and settled again in the sand. He could feel the tips of her stubble. Women shaved the hair from their bodies, he thought. At once, that was all he was thinking or feeling, more than who she was or why he lay on the beach hoping for forgiveness in the scorching sunshine.

His temper had not flared for nearly a week. This seemed distinct and did succeed in lifting him. If he had practiced his kindness, kept it properly maintained, then this scorching in the sun would not be necessary, making the long wooden glances far easier to take.

All the sentimental banking and foolishness left him stiff and compromised. The net sum had left a decent dent in the sides of them both. This he never imagined, succumbing to the economic crunch of the other man’s fears. He bit down on his tongue in a familiar meditation.

She rolled and flickered her eyes open.

Nothing she could say would make him whole again. This was the end of what they had shared and all he could think to do was pound the earth with all his strength.

She leaned close, smiled warmly, and whispering a kiss into his eyes, sealed their fate.

c 2008 wonkles

McCain’s insult turns to Obama’s strength. Please pass it along.