align="left">I woke up in a terrible mood this morning. The new baby
weighs on my mind, my editors aren't emailing me back, and my
nose-to-the-grindstone writing schedule hasn't seen a single return
worth getting excited about. It's an overcast day outside, varying
from cold to hot without warning (hey, it's LA), and I can't leave my
apartment. Why? Because the president wants to drive down my street.
In yet another sign that absolutely no one except his donors and his
transvestite mother loves him, George W. Bush had to lock down entire
stretches of West Los Angeles today so he could make his way to some
backscratching function or another without having to come across a
single person who hates his guts. I mean, cops are everywhere here,
and they are blocking driveways, streets and anyone who wants to cross
either. Because they just don't seem to know when Bush might come
drunkenly careening down it and run over one of his citizens. Or
something like that.
You think I'm lying but when Bush's motorcade came up the street, they
blazed, as if Iran and Syria and the ghost of Saddam were tailing them
on fire. It was hilarious, and another fine moment in police history.
Evidently, the statutes on speeding, careless driving and locking down
city blocks so one tool can take them over were suspended for the day,
all the while with scores of Los Angeles cops looking on and doing
what they usually do, which is to say nothing that important.
My wife warned me not to talk any shit off the balcony of our
apartment, at the cops or the passing motorcade, while she held our
beautiful, innocent daughter in her arms. And that's when it hit me
hard: This is America? This is the land of the free and the home of
the brave? A place where the president, who is supposed to represent
all of the people in the country -- not just the fundamentalist necks
who put him in office -- can't drive down the streets of the country
he serves without clearing, holding and building up a massive bubble
around him? There was a time not too long ago when presidents weren't
afraid -- yeah, afraid -- to at least mingle among the people, drive
near them, talk to them, and hear what they have to say. But this
fool? If the total lockdown of any area he visits isn't a sign that
he's a dictator, then I don't know what is. I mean, I had neighbors
who couldn't cross the streets to get home because of the possibility
he would be rolling down the street with his press bitches in tow,
like the multinational pimp that he is. They'd ask the cops when he'd
be back around so they could cross and go home, and the cops -- useful
public servants, as always -- would merely shrug their patented
could-give-a-fuck shrug and say they didn't know. All the while
playing the man as they told grannies to take their groceries and get
back on the curb.
I'd like to rant more, but I'm sure the point is taken. And my
daughter is crying, so I have to pick her up, and lie to her about how
great things will be when she gets older. How lucky she is to be born
into a country that puts unelected presidents in office, invents wars
that costs thousands of innocent lives, and wastes billions of the
taxpayers' cash while ignoring environmental catastrophe breathing
down their necks like....well, asshole presidents who are free to go
anywhere they want and do anything -- anything -- to anyone.
I sure hope his trip to that one Californian who still likes him was worth it.