November 28, 2004

Spend any time with cats and you come to understand what they're saying. It's not hard. They say the same kind of stuff that dogs do, mostly about food, with the addition of one thing that dogs never say: "I love you and that's why I must sometimes inflict pain." It's this quality that gives cats their "mystique," and what people who are into cats secretly prize. Because they're the same way. Buncha sick fucks is what they are.
      The only reason I bring this up is it relates to something that happened to me while I was working as a precinct leader for MoveOn on election day.
      I hate being involved in politics, and hate most of all spending time with leftists. I hate speeches, I hate rallies, I hate fucking peace marches, I hate sanctimonious bullshit, I hate it all. But the Bush threat is something that transcends all that. I never felt I was doing enough to fight that threat. Housewives during WWII planted "Victory Gardens" and saved bacon fat to make bombs. Even the smallest domestic activity was oriented toward defeating the enemy. That's the level of effort I believed we all should have been making to defeat Bush.
      Working directly for the Kerry campaign never worked out because--I can say this now--they were so completely unorganized that, for them, trying to do anything at all was a spirit-draining waste of time. I went to an "organizing convention" at which we were expected to listen to four hours of speeches before getting to the only part I was interested in (that is, finding out how I could help); I went to the Kerry headquarters one rainy morning for canvassing duty, only to find that they had no clipboards, no pens, and almost none of the other things one would consider basic to the task; I went...but there is no use in naming all the ways the campaign let me down. Among their many fatal mistakes must be counted their total lack of understanding of the degree to which millions of people were willing to do anything to help their man win. So I ended up with MoveOn.
      MoveOn is a great organization, though being part of their army of "Turn-out-the-Vote"-ers was a bit too much like working for a corporation. As in sales, you had to report all your numbers every day: how many hours you worked, how many contacts you made, how many volunteers you recruited, etc. On election day, this reporting was supposed to be done every two hours. I mean, it's good that it's well run, but it chafes a bit if you don't happen to feel like being a drone.
      The best run organization I ever worked for though? By far? Ivar's Acres of Clams. This one time? I got into a dispute with another busser that escalated into chest bumping and threats to kick each other's ass. Not that I thought I could kick his ass (there was no way), but a restaurant seemed like a safe place to act like a macho jackass. What was he going to do, pull a steak knife on me? But the general manager? Within ten minutes he had us shaking hands and promising eternal cooperation. Every problem in that place was resolved just as fast; nothing could be allowed to impede the money flow. Highest volume restaurant on the West Coast, so they say.
      Anyway, back to MoveOn: The task on election day was to track down people in my precinct who had not voted and get them to do so. I'm standing on a porch in that stupid way solicitors and other strangers do after they have knocked on a door and are waiting for a response. And this cat comes up to me and says, "Hey! You're a human being! Human beings can open doors! Open the fucking door for me!" So when the door does open, I am focused on the cat and--you have to realize that I hadn't slept a wink--what my delinquent voter hears instead of my usual pitch is this: "I know I'm a human being! But all I can do is knock!"