Pennsylvania primary wish …
I have managed to stay studiously wordless about the presidential race for the entire month of the Democratic campaign in Pennsylvania. I know all about it, though. I’m glad Pennsylvanians get to make a difference of some kind. I mean, I used to be one. We weren’t bitter at all back then, either. That’s how old I am.
I’m not making any predictions for tomorrow. But I’m hoping that enough Pennsylvanian Democrats will vote for the Democratic primary race to be over, and that means pulling the lever, or touching the screen, or making an “X,” or whatever it is you do in your town, for you-know-who. The candidate whose last name does not rhyme with “Schminton.”
Update: “Oh, well.” Get ‘em next time …
Later update: This seems like as good a place as any to add validation code from whereistand.com
jss @ April 21, 2008
Dear Jeff,
Thank you for finally writing about our beloved former home state of Pa. The primary there has been going on for so long, that many of my friends and relatives have actually updated from matchlocks to flintlocks. God, however, remains as unchangeable and incomprehensible as always.
Bitterness is not confined to Pennsylvania, but it flatters me to believe that it got it’s great start there. I, myself, am fallen-away Amish, and feel it’s my evolutionary duty to make up for lost generations of open hostility and gun-play. I feel bitter about joblessness, money, God and the extinction of Islay’s chipped-chopped ham. Family style restaurants, Weaver’s Lebanon bologna and Groundhog Day also irritate me. Also Erie. Especially Erie.
Wishing us all a bitter, God-fearing, gun-toting day
in Pa. (Don’t forget to vote early and often!)
You’re a riot, AJ.
As for me … from my Pittsburgh days, I may have a little residual bitterness for Mr. Marx, the high school English teacher who blackballed me from the National Honor Society. Not that I really would have fit in, but it’s the principle of the thing. That’s about it, though. Otherwise, I rooted for the Steelers, went to the opera at Heinz Hall, worked in the coal mines … you know, the usual, teen-aged Pennsylvania humdrum existence.