But...why?

I just recently learned about a "campaign" that Barack Obama has been running called "Change Rocks". He gets on stage with a couple of popular rock stars and talks about his candidacy for the presidentcy, as if somehow, between riffs and pop songs about lady lumps, a political consciousness and intellect could be stirred somewhere between the crowd surfers and the mosh pit.

Now, I understand that candidates are trying to grab the attention of the younger voting demographic; that's why they have campaign ads on YouTube, and profiles on MySpace and Facebook...all in attempts to reach the 20 somethings who are among the groups with the lowest voter turnout.

But...why? As a member of this group, may I say...we are not educated, you don't want us selecting the leader of the free world. In 2004 I was a sophomore at a state university, meaning I was one of two Republicans on campus (we had a secret nod when we saw eachother, as to not be recognized by the oppressive majority). During the presidential election that year, I heard a ton of flack about President Bush, and how he needed to be replaced because he was a horrible leader. This fence I won't lay on either side of (not now, anyway), however, when I finally asked someone why he was so horrible, I didn't get any real answer. It was a series of "well...uh"s grunts, and scoffs; there may have been some Morse code in there. I didn't think about that.

Anyway, it was a fad. Hating Bush was the new cigarette. It was so cool because of its rebelliousness, , even though 99% of everyone else on campus heard the same political blurb on Jimmy Kimmel Live the night before too.

I'm not saying people my age shouldn't vote, I'm just saying that we mostly shouldn't vote. There should be a test that stipulates who can and can't vote. You should be able to know the top members of the current administration. You should have some familiarity with the domestic issues that you claim to be so passionate about, and you should know what country our troops are actually in before you say we shouldn't be there (locating it on a map wouldn't be such a bad skill either).

Edible Rite of Passage

I was chatting with the gal behind the Deli counter today when I realized that a conversion had taken place. Most of my sandwich-meat-buying years were spent with Oscar Mayer and Hillshire Farms over on the other side of the produce section. I used to roll my eyes at the people who paid three times as much as me for some sandwich meat. Why in the world would you pay $7.99 a pound for some ham? I can get five pounds of perfectly good bologna for a $1. I thought those premium-gas buying, tweed-jacket-wearing snobs were way too frivilous with their money. It reminded me of the times I used to dream about one day being able to buy Home Pride bread and still have money left over to buy the $1 bologna to go along with it. It was ambitious, but I knew it was my destiny.

This afternoon, I glanced over at the pre-packaged meats and cheeses until I noticed an obstruction; it was the end of my nose. In two trips to the Deli counter I had become a woman in purple heels and a matching hat, shopping for my picnic lunch for the polo match in the Hamptons next weekend ("Yes, ma'am, the oven-roasted, sun-kissed ham is for my stock broker husband"). As I enjoyed a piece of my orignal swiss (aged for 60 days), I realized I would never see Oscar again, and my frequent visits to the Hillshire Farm were no longer on my itinerary. Perhaps one day, should the stable run out of feed for our thoroughbreds, I may become desperate.
Until then, I will enjoy by Maple Buttered Ham.
I have arrived.