Sin of the Month • Abby
Bardi |
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Moooving |
Last week, my husband said, "I think we might have to move to another country."
I asked him what he was doing awake--the sun had just come up. He said he hadn't been to sleep; he had gone to bed and tried, but when he tried to count sheep, all he could see was Tom DeLay. As he lay there, grimly driving himself toward slumber, whole flocks of Tom DeLays scampered past him, leaping over fences. Where were they heading?
The White House.
"That's ridiculous," I said when he explained this to me. "There's no way Tom DeLay will ever be
president."
"That's ridiculous," I said when he explained this to me. "There's no way Tom DeLay will ever be president." |
My husband gave me a dark, hopeless, yet patronizing look, the kind of look one gives a numbskull after one has not slept all night.
"Okay, fine," I said. "It's not impossible."
"They can elect anyone they want," he said ominously. I knew he was thinking of the electronic voting machines and their lack of a paper trail.
"Tom DeLay will never be president," I said, but less conviction, I admit.
"You wait and see." Then he said again, "We might have to move to another country."
I should have just agreed with him and told him to go back to bed and try counting Tom DeLays again, but I made the mistake of saying, "We're not going anywhere."
Two hours later, after he had explained all the reasons we might have to move to another country, and I had explained all the reasons we weren't going anywhere, he went to bed, and I think he finally closed his eyes for a couple of hours. He emerged a while later and went back to his computer, where he made the mistake of reading some more about politics, and I could hear him cursing under his breath. It seemed clear that he would never get a decent night's sleep again. He didn't mention moving, but every so often, he would stare into space as if he was thinking of the farmhouse in France that we would never occupy, thanks to my recalcitrance, or perhaps of the prison camp we were going to end up in after having made so many public criticisms of President DeLay.
But the fact is, sure, things look increasingly scary here in America, but I just don't want to move. Here are some of the reasons:
1. Other countries don't let you just pick up and move to them.
2. I can't even deal with packing to go away for a weekend.
3. I've already spent nine years as an expatriate, and I don't want to do it again.
4. We Blue People have as much right to live here as anyone else.
5. And in any case, by the time things get bad enough that it's clear that all the Blue People should leave, there really will be nowhere for us all to go.
"Besides," I said to my husband a few days later, "I like it here."
He looked at me with tired eyes. He had still not slept. In the iris of each of his eyes was the image of Tom DeLay.
"This is a great town," I went on.
He shook his head sadly, too exhausted to argue any more.
As if to underscore my point, I left him there, still shaking his head, and went down Main Street to Sarah & Desmond's Vegetarian Café and Bakery. My friend Bob was there, as he always is. As far as I know, the FBI is still watching him (see my March column, "Freedom of Speech") but he seems unperturbed.
We were sitting around, yakking about the usual pointless stuff--silent movies, local gossip, the price of chai--when I noticed a group of cows walking down the street. Upon closer scrutiny, they turned out to be people in cow suits (they were walking on their hind legs, a dead giveaway). A few cows stood outside S&D's as if pondering the word "Vegetarian" on their sign. "Come in," Bob said, leaping to his feet and escorting two of the cows to seats at the counter. "Would you like something to drink?" The cows emitted little squeals of delight, so Bob bought them each a bottle of raspberry water. They sat clutching their bottles, unable to drink them because they didn't have mouths.
"You can take your masks off," Bob told them, but the cows seemed reluctant to do that, as if taking their masks off would suggest they were not really cows.
One of the cows began to hand out business cards. On the card was a web address: www.bovineunite.com.
The rest of the message on the card consisted chiefly of moos.
When I got home, I immediately went to the cows' website. There were more moos there and also, a message in English: "The plan goes into effect on C-day: 05.05.05."
What is the plan?
I'm not sure, but I think maybe the cows are planning to take over the world.
I decided to Google the cows and found scattered references to them, although no one seems to know what they're up to. Apparently, they've been spotted (no pun intended) all across the country. Some bloggers speculate that they may be affiliated with PETA, on the one hoof, or with Chick-fil-a on the other.
All I can say is that whatever they're planning, I'm behind it 100 percent. I think it's pretty clear that cows would do a much better job of running the world than humans ever have.
Meanwhile, as bad as last week was for my husband, this week has been even worse for Tom DeLay. According to the Washington Post, even Rick Santorum has begun to turn on him ("Santorum Urges DeLay to Answer Critics," April 11, 2005). In the same article, Rep. Christopher Shays (R-Conn) calls DeLay "an absolute embarrassment to me and to the Republican Party."
For the past few days, since the rumblings of DeLay's downfall began to accelerate, my husband has been walking around the house with a little smile on his face, and he's been sleeping like a baby.
And for the time being, our discussion of moving to another country has been tabled. Of course, he may be right--it's possible that in 2008, the presidential election will be stolen again1, but it's equally possible that the problems with electronic voting machines will have been sorted out by then. You never know what's coming down the pike in this great, weird country of ours. You can be sitting in a café, minding your own business, and be accosted by cows with business cards. The cows could take over the world. Anything can happen.
Meanwhile, it's spring, and everything is in bloom again after the long winter. The earth runs in cycles, at least it will until we manage to destroy its weather completely, and while it does, there is always hope. And while there is hope, I'm not going anywhere.
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1 In case you're still not convinced that the election was stolen, read Christopher Hitchens' piece in Vanity Fair: http://www.makethemaccountable.com/articles/Ohio_s_Odd_Numbers.htm
and Rep. John Conyers congressional report: http://www.truthout.org/docs_05/010605Y.shtml
