VIEWPOINT
‘I don’t belong to any organized political party … I’m a Democrat”Will Rogers By PEPPER EDMISTON Special to the Palisadian-Post Last Saturday, I lay on my couch feeling sorry for myself. No goals. No employment. Is ‘housewife’ a job when someone else cleans, the kids market and the husband cooks? Menopausal for life, with empty-nest syndrome looming large. So, sloth-like, yet anxiety-ridden, I lay. Around noon, the phone rang. ‘Hi. Joe Halper here from the Palisades Democratic Club. We have Michael Moore tomorrow from 4 to 6. Can he come to your house?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘Great. Sending out 600 e-mails. No idea about the size of the crowd. I have an event before and theater after. But you can handle it, right?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘Bye, now.’ Something to live for, at least through the weekend. E-mails mentioning free ‘vittles,’ a book-signing and a Democratic loyalty oath went out to family and friends. The house was cleaned, furniture was moved. I spent most of my energy re-arranging cookie jars. Should Santa Claus or Uncle Sam decorate the table where Michael would autograph his stuff? Hubby Joe and the younger boys came home from the USC football game. ‘Michael Moore’s coming tomorrow!’ I enthused. ‘Did we know about this before?’ asked Joe. ‘Not before lunch,’ I said. Sunday it stormed. Would rain keep away the faithful? Maybe, but 300 people showed up anyway. Michael Moore appeared in all his over-sized glory. Big man, big smile, big intellect. He stood in our entry hall and spoke for an hour. The house was stuffed with Democrats, on the floor, up the staircase, in every room and out in the rain. Folks laughed, clapped and booed. Michael is a showman and we loved his show. Moore reminded us that 57 million people voted for Kerry. We can win next time, if we run a rock star, like Clinton, or a real one, like Tom Hanks. Karl Rove says the public hates Hollywood and the Dems should keep their distance. Baloney, says Moore. First, why would Rove give us good advice? Second, everyone loves Hollywood! From Reagan to ‘Love Boat”s Gopher to our own Arnold the Barbarian, actors win. Even Bush’s Crawford ranch is a movie set, built a year before the 2000 election to cast Dubya as an ‘aw shucks’ cowboy. Moore suggested new rules for the D.N.C. Number 1: Eight strikes and you’re out. If you’ve tanked eight campaigns, like strategist Bob Shrum, you gotta hit the road. Number 2: The 70 million citizens eligible to vote who sat out 2004 are not all Evangelicals. We should woo them, not by becoming like the other party, but by being who we are. We’re for universal health care, a clean environment, better schools. Number 3: If folks want something else, they know where they can go. After an energetic Q and A, Michael moved to the dining room table to begin signing…oh, did I mention there were no books? This was due to the Costco Fiasco. Dear Katie, of Village Books, had less notice than we did. Late Saturday she learned Costco had 250 copies of ‘Will They Ever Trust Us Again?’ Michael’s compilation of soldiers’ letters from Iraq. On Sunday, Katie went to pick them up. Oops, the books were on a tippy-top rack that required a crane, which couldn’t be operated during business hours. Sorry. Still, the line snaked around the table and up the staircase. Michael stayed two more hours, posing for photos, being adorable and signing book plates which will be fastened on the books really soon. As a reward for our hospitality, Joe and I were invited to dinner at the Palm later that night. Bill Maher would be hosting the event honoring Michael. We’d love to come. Could my parents come, too? Sure. Could my kids? How many? Seven. Dead silence. How about one or two who really, really care? ‘Who could come’ translated into ‘Whom do you love the most, Mom?’ We worked it out (three came) and, of course, I love each and every child exactly the same. All in all, it was a great 24 hours. We rose to the occasion for a day, but Michael Moore has been at it for decades. The man is fearless. He hunts down the truth for all of our sakes. He is democracy’s greatest defender. Do you want to know what a real American hero looks like? Baggy pants, a double chin and a baseball cap. And, he was right there, in our entry hall, Sunday afternoon.
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