Monday Sep 17 2012
From Where I Sit: It’s my party and I can cry if I want toBy: Tom Rupp, Special to the Telegraph
Here in this little suburb of Sacramento the fine citizens of Folsom will soon participate in the national venture of a presidential election. Folks from all angles are saying all sorts of things. Folks from both parties are doing all sorts of things. Maybe it is time to change the word from “party” to “faction” or “group.” It’s been anything but a party lately. At first I thought about collecting quotes, facts and figures and trying to make some sort of case for either candidate. However, apparently non-partisan fact-checking Web pages already exist. No, these will rather be the cynical words of someone who is tired not so much of the politicians but of the process. Please do not take offense at what may be deemed words critical of your candidate — they don’t call it “mud-slinging” for nothing. The very act of getting in the game results in an inevitably certain sort of sliminess. Yes, that’s Obama and yes, that’s Romney. It’s about gotten to the point where Nov. 6 is a matter of either picking my candidate who is flawed and whose words are taken out of context or your candidate who is flawed and whose words are taken out of context. Obama has a wonderful family? Romney has a beautiful family? So what? It’s a window shopping dress rehearsal for figurehead-in-chief. They both offer empty promises from a date who has little intention of keeping them once he has you in bed. Haven’t we finally gotten it that, no matter what a candidate says, campaigning is one thing and governing is an entirely different thing? Here’s what bugs me — when things go well, a politician takes credit for it as if they alone were responsible for it. When things go poorly, a politician bemoans the monolithic political processes that are the death of their good intentions. And make no mistake about it — both Obama and Romney are politicians, figureheads, actors who are playing a part. The old saw is “there’s no such thing as a little garlic.” In that sense, I apologize for the overload of cynicism. Yes it stinks, but I actually am holding back. In his retirement my grandfather, a colonel in both World Wars I and II, used to call all politicians “applesauce,” a quaintly derisive term from the early 20th century. He’s long dead and gone, but we are still being served a big load of applesauce. Eat up! Reach Tom Rupp at firstname.lastname@example.org.