You wouldn't know it.

Perhaps it may seem strange, or perhaps ironic, or even strangely ironic or ironically strange that I am someone deeply fascinated with politics, policy and ideology* and have been practically since the moment of conception.

I'm one to steer clear of these weightier matters because they tend to generate infinitely more heat than light and this blog -- and my whole blog-life, frankly -- are about the light and fluffy doings of a happy bunny. This set of affairs would be deeply endangered by a discussion on the merits of Gov. X vs. Sen. Y, which would rapidly devolve into a mudfight, the sort of which I do not wish to have on my tab.

Those of you who might've delved into this topic might've also noticed my absence from comboxes when the subject gets electoral. A happy bunny's worldview is a fragile thing to be guarded with great jealousy.

Oh, sure, I have another, secret blog where I vent my spleen at those with whom I disagree and further vent my spleen at the sniveling cretins who putatively represent my side of the ideological divide. There I am far more ruthless than I am here, and those who dissent in an impolite or overly unintelligent manner are issued a swift and sharp corrective.

The only reason I mention this is because when I was a kid I really, really wanted to become President of the USA. I'll spare you all the rather shocking things I'd do, but suffice it to say I'd be able to knock off early in the first term, stopping by the Oval Office only on Tuesdays and Thursdays to make sure the Russians weren't thinking of invading perfectly peaceable neighbors or that the bitch-slapping of bureaucrats had, in fact, been lowered in status to a mere misdemeanor, punishable by a small fine.

I really, seriously, harbored every intention of becoming President and nursed this desire all the way into early graduate school. I had what in statesperson circles is called A Cunning Plan. Since my beloved has pretty much stood at the doorway with a kitchen knife to her own throat threatening to end it all in a singularly gruesome manner if I so much consider being elected dogcatcher, there is no danger of my reaching elected office and I may safely share this plan with all of the assembled.

The Republic's loss is thy gain.

My congressional district had been represented in Washington by a guy who had fought with Washington at Yorktown, or so it seemed. By the time my interest in achieving high elected office had crystallized, he was 173 years old and was serving his 98th term in office. Although the party registration in the district really didn't favor him, he was viewed as a decent man, of not-too-leftist-ish views whose immense seniority was seen as an asset. So the opposing party, regardless of its 2:1 advantage in voter registrations, never bothered sending anyone up against him. In fact, this had been the case for the previous 10 years.

But the distinguished Representative was 173 years old. In each of the prior two elections, he had suffered serious health problems and his status was despaired of, and his health was greatly diminished after only partial recoveries. So when the elections of 1990 started inching forward and once again, nobody rose to challenge him, I came up with my plan. *I* would run against him. I would wait until May 31st, which was then -- and it still may be, for all I know -- the deadline to file for candidacy, and pay my $50 and become his opponent in that election.

The idea was that I would, if I may use the eBay term, snipe the election.

I was betting, somewhat cynically, his health would preclude him from successfully prosecuting another election. He would either Not Make It, or would have to drop out and -- watch what I'm doing ovah heah -- because the candidate filing would be closed, there'd be no competition and therefore I'D be the next Representative. From there, the Governorship (or the Senate, I wasn't fussy) and then the White House.

This was, I kid thee not, a fully formed and utterly serious plan in my mind. I was going to be President. What I didn't count on was the distinguished gentleman dying two weeks before** the filing deadline, so that eleventy gazillion people -- all of them more properly funded and far better known -- from either party all filed to succeed him.

And that, dear Internet, is why I am not running for re-election to the Presidency in 2008.


* The three are different, albeit somewhat overlapping.

** Hard to believe that, had the old boy held on a mere 16 days longer, today my life would be spectacularly different. As would the lives of every man, woman and child on the planet for generations to come.


teachergirl said…
Wow, J. Just sixteen days. Imagine.
Frogdancer said…
That last postscript is either peculiarly ominous, or wistful...
Stomper Girl said…
Man. If he'd only lived I could have been blogpals with the president! And you'd have been able to sort out the xenophobic scrabble problem to boot!
Ok so if you were president, how would you get rid of Castro?
Oh how that last postscript made me guffaw!

In a good way you understand...
Badger said…
Dude. I am totally calling you Bunny from now on.

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