Ketchup/Catsup/Catch up

Okay, so in case anyone's been checking back here and cares, I can explain everything. The rest of 2008 was spent working my day job and by night working my butt off on the Obama campaign. That's actually an immense exaggeration, since I'm not so good at team-based efforts, especially those I'm not getting paid for, because I spend way too much time trying to figure out the dynamics of the team in an effort to determine who's vying for the lead, the Top Dog Alpha slot, and way too little time focusing on a goal-at-hand. Anyone with even the slightest knowledge of organizational paradigms -- which is just a fancy shmancy way of saying what people do in groups -- knows that humans in a cluster will organically, and unconsciously develop a pecking order, if you will, wherein a multi-tiered system will evolve at the top of which one, and only one, of the teamsters will sit, perched atop the flagpole. And from that vaulted position, the leader will rule the minions. By the way, there really are no midlevel management positions, except in the imaginations of the wannabe's who believe the Leader favors them for things like timeliness or dedication to the cause. Har! And those of us willing to stay in the back row and keep a low, low, very low profile, let the midlevelers fawn and kiss-up, so long as we are allowed long, frequent coffee breaks and no real responsibilities other than showing up and wearing a nametag. Remember, every hive needs its worker bees, and the worker bees need the slacker bees, who do nothing more than buzz while the workers are busy, busy, busy gathering the pollen. Or nectar. You know, the pre-honey stuff. (I'm no entomologist, mind you, nor do I claim to be.).

So while other campaigners were canvassing, phone-treeing, and standing outside Whole Foods and other groovy, organic establishments, querying Joe and Janette Plumber about whether they're registered voters and who they'll vote for in the presidential election, the slacker bees were standing outside of the Mini-Mart and KFC, campaign materials in hand, asking passersby if they've got the correct time. Or whether they know where the nearest Starbucks is. Hey, we can't all be type-A's, and we can't all be promoters; we can't all embrace and thrive on conflict and challenge. And truth be told, campaigning is slow, boring business, and only the most driven, power-by-association personalities will bloom. You never -- and let me repeat this -- never get to see the actual candidate up close and in person. He or she does not phone your campaign headquarters and give you a warm "Ppreciate it!" pep talks to keep you going. It just doens't happen in real life.

As for me, I simply did my best, and my best turned out to be good enough, because instead of John "My Friends" McCain and Sarah "MediaWhoreHunterGathererBabyPoppinWolfSlaughtering" Palin in the Whitehouse, we've got Barack and Michelle and those gorgeous daughters. The Obamas are so easy on the eyes and ears that it's almost enough just knowing they're inhabiting the presidential quarters, sleeping on good sheets, eating wholesome meals, sharing with one another little snippets of their respective days, brushing their teeth and flossing without falter at the end of every first-family day. In fact, after the eight years we endured with Bush Cheney Incorporated, it would almost be enough if that was all Barack Obama did: just live in the Whitehouse, coming out onto the lawn occasionally and smiling his big, bright, beautiful it's-all-gonna-be-okay-Baby-Girl smile. Coupled with a few magisterial, serious-as-shit, deep-thinker profile shots. It would almost be enough.

Almost.

More to come, after the break. (I always wanted to say that.)