I suppose this is what it must feel like to be on the wrong side in one of those good vs. evil fantasy movies.  I’m still here, one of the minions laboring in the Dark Castle, hoping that Commander Clinton pulls off a victory, but the audience in the theater can already tell where this one is going.

Yeah, it’s likely that Hillary will end up the Democratic nominee.  But it’s clear she is not the true winner of this election.  Hillary’s the Queen clinging to her crown, while outside her window Bernie prances about, surrounded by happy woodland creatures and chirpy little songbirds, sprinkling his fairy dust on everyone.

At this point, I’ve moved past the furious stepmother phase of my reaction to this election cycle…or at least I hope I have…and, while not enthusiastic for him, I’m glad for how excited the people in my life are about Bernie.  Not being excited about Bernie when you live in Portland is a little bit like being the only sober person at one of those parties where all your other friends are high on something, but that’s okay.  It might not be fun at first, but then you let go and roll with it, and learn to accept the meandering philosophical discussions and the random crying bouts.

As for me, I’ll keep skulking in the shadows, rooting against all odds for Queen Hillary to become President…and maybe even more than that…

“What are we doing tonight, Your Highness?”

“What we do every night…try to take over the world!”

 

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Well, it’s that time–a new Star Wars movie is coming. I can tell because my Facebook feed is cluttered with trailers, previews, lightsabers and heated debates about stormtroopers. I know all my friends are excited, but I have to say that the whole thing leaves me cold and indifferent, probably because I’m no fun.

Here are a few hypothetical scenarios in an alternative galaxy far, far away which might actually make me care about the new lightsaber:

*If it cracks open a bottle of booze for me,

*If it’s mentioned anywhere in the Senate report about “enhanced interrogations,”

*If Elizabeth Warren gets to use it on our banking system,

*If “The Lightsaber” is the name of a real adult toy, batteries included,

*and definitely if it causes some of those obnoxious holiday shoppers to poke an eye out with it…bah, humbug.

In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to avoid Facebook for the next couple of…hmmmm…how many more of those movies are there going to be? Oh, Jesus.

You talk about science fiction, but you sneak novels with titles like “The Sheik’s Mistress” into your purse.

You listen to public radio in the morning, but you love your reality TV at night.

You say you like jazz and indie rock, but you sing Lady Gaga songs in the shower.

You support the Democrats, but you vote against higher property taxes.

You always eat your kale salad with a side of potato chips.

You’d kiss a girl for fun, but you dream of a man marrying you.

You still like to wear your old pair of Uggs around the house.

You’re not as cool as you think you are.  And admit it–when nobody’s watching, you’re okay with that.

In Salon, Gary Kamiya offers evidence that Mitt Romney might indeed be a robot:  “His zombie-like cheerfulness, his excessively regular features and his strangely perfect-looking family led to widespread suspicion that he had been assembled in Silicon Valley by a team of right-wing nanotechnologists and engineers and shipped secretly to GOP headquarters.”  And there is more proof given:  his incoherent attempts at humor and his sudden (encoded?) shifts of opinion.

My only wish is that Mitt were a better robot.  Like one of those bots that mop your house or do the dishes for you.  He has just enough bland good looks to make an okay sex-bot.  Or he could be cast as a cyborg extra in sci-fi movies and get shot at with lasers for our amusement.

But a robot that has been programmed to increase the gap between the rich and the poor?  Is that really a useful invention?  We already have plenty of human beings working towards that goal…

 

I used to believe I was a nerd.  I was always made fun of for being a nerd when I was younger, mainly because I wore glasses and spent all my time reading, and so I assumed that those were the basic requirements for nerdiness.

But as with everything else, things get complicated as you get older.  It turns out that nerd and geek are much more specialized terms than I thought.  Geeks are into programming stuff on computers.  I love computers as a tool for sharing gossip and irrational political opinions.  So, not a geek.  Nerds are expected to be into sci-fi, which is a genre I have never managed to become enthusiastic about.  I’m still obsessive about reading, but my preferences are a mixed bag of everything from Victorian novels to 20th century Eastern bloc fiction to pop culture analysis.  I’m not sure what that makes me.  I guess that the comic book and superhero thing can also put one in the nerd category.  I grew up in Poland reading a comic book about a superhero called Orientation Man, who was constantly being chased by an Eskimo with a broken heater, but somehow I don’t think that qualifies.

And I get the feeling that my love of hip-hop automatically cancels my membership in the nerd world.   

So what am I?  I’m definitely socially awkward enough to be a dork, but there’s so much more to me than my klutziness.  I suppose my fanatical interest in politics might mean I’m a wonk, but that word implies connections and influence in Washington D.C. that I just don’t have.  A bookworm?  A dweeb?

Ah, hell.  I’m from Europe.  I should have known all along.  I’m an intellectual.