Our Christmas* dinner was interrupted by a phone call from Hillary Clinton. And another one from Bill Richardson. And a poll.
Last night, we gave up on our game of guessing which candidate was calling (usually Clinton, but Biden and Richardson and Dodd have all stepped up their telephoning in the past couple days, and a number of local political figures decided at the last minute to endorse Obama), and started hanging up on anyone we didn’t recognize from the caller ID. I didn’t count how many times the phone rang – the calls quickly blurred into a timeless haze of prerecorded messages and “I’m calling from out-of-state because…”.
This household is a fat, juicy political prize – three registered Democrats, all of whom intend to caucus, one of whom is undecided – but we still haven’t gotten any campaign workers to shovel our sidewalks. What, I ask you, is the use of having such a political circus if you can’t even get your sidewalks shoveled?
I’ll be going to the caucuses tonight, just to observe, just because I can. (“But you can register at the caucus, you know!” said an assortment of friends, acquaintances, and campaign workers. “I think that would technically be perjury,” said I. “Oh, right.”) How dorky is it that I’m excited about standing around in my elementary school gymnasium watching other people talk about politics? Answer: pretty dorky.
*NB: We McMootses have a tradition of playing fast and loose with the dates of holidays, especially when doing so makes it easier to arrange multi-family travel plans. No politician was so stupid as to interrupt on Dec. 25.
