While I inhaled the cherry blossom promises of change from an enthusiastic yet clearly exhausted Hillary Clinton, I wondered, "What change will I be handed? If I am owed 73 cents and only get a quarter back, then I'll buy my candy bar somewhere else."
When Clinton finally made her way to the City of Homes, there was an air of optimism, yet the sneaking suspicion persisted that the glass we were being served was half empty. For over 90 minutes a crowd that numbered close to 5,000 (not the 2,000 maximum capacity that was to be strictly enforced) packed in like mercury-tainted tuna to an arena that closely resembled a tin can. A patchwork of musical clichés was blaring through speakers controlled by some rookie college DJ who still hadn't figured out what all the knob thingies do.
The usual gang of political cronies, from sometimes questionably connected city councilors to ostentatiously well-bred state representatives, had gathered for a great photo op. Swarms of police and secret service with one hand on their holsters and the other on some super high-tech walkie-talkie apparatus peered over the audience profiling anyone who didn't quite fit the image of Hillary supporters.
Among those who attended not for political correctness but out of plain curiosity were a mish-mash of college students skipping class for the day, junkies who get their fixes from the political-industrial complex, an occasional oddball with a message on his shirt and ideas on his tongue, and me—an edgy derelict who grew up in the 1990s hearing the praises of the Clintons from my parents, survivors of the Reagan and Bush Sr. era.
Overinflated promises were a dime a dozen during a 20-minute speech meant to bring the crowd to a frothing frenzy. There was the pledge to restore the country to the joyous state where college graduates aren't paying off their student loans for the next quarter century. There was the audacious claim that troops would be coming home within 60 days after her term begins. Clinton knows very well that the president has almost no control over what happens in this country. It always boils down to deals and compromises made in congressional cloakrooms to decide the fate of people relegated to lives in tenement houses with fruit flies and buzzards swarming over the occasional crumb of a $600 tax rebate.
So earlier, when I lazily picked up the Sunday paper, I was somewhat amused that Hillary Clinton would grace often-forgotten Western Massachusetts with her presence. Of course an exact time and place could not be divulged for fear some whack job would disrupt what genuinely was a moment where folks of all ages, races, sexes, and creeds (although the majority of the crowd was middle-aged, white, and female) could get a chance to be part of history by hearing what an intelligent woman has to say about the future of our world. The average Joanne could actually have an opportunity to see a brave and pragmatic woman giving her heart and soul to become the next president of the United States.
Yet there is not much news that can be reported at this point. Super Tuesday has come and gone and a candidate most of the country doesn't want is being chewed up and spat out by the vulture-like media blitzkrieg that should be familiar to every voter. It leaves a sour taste that will increase voter apathy to an all-time high. False promises make me twitchier than a cheap sugar buzz that leaves me drained but at least somewhat entertained. ?
