Business of Politics: Boy Meets World

In an elevator with my mom, at her work, her co-worker asks, “So David, what are going to do in DC?” Half jokingly I reply, “save the world, of course.” I came to DC with a very idealistic goal, but open-minded search to how to save the world. I had suspension it maybe in politics.

It’s been almost 2 years since I left my native homestate of Missouri. Since I have come to terms with the real world, reality, how things work, and what can be done. But one thing that was most disenchanting was how DC operates and more importantly, the business of politics.

Not too long ago, I had a conversation with a staffer on the Hill about legislation. But before that, do you remember that school house rock, “I am just a bill on Capital Hill?” It sang to how a bill became a law. We studied in civics class the importance of

legislation in furthering the civil liberties of our citizens, protecting the environment, and so on. In college, politics classes examine laws effecting our greater society. Point is, legislation matters.

The staffer explained the internal mechanisms to which an idea develops into a memo, to a bill, and ultimately a law. Now imagine a room full of older gentlemen with some respectful women. They are to talk about some new legislation for some crisis in the real world, i.e. gas prices, food prices, sub-prime market, and so on. Then walks in the expert, a young 22 female or male college graduate whose extensive, long years of all 22 years of human life, just four or five years of college, is to brief these congressmen or congresswomen on particular piece or topic as a supposed expert. On matters like healthcare, which is vastly complicated and complex, is going to brief the more experienced men and women on a topic that many people dedicated their lives to studying. Really!?

It’s quite common that the staffers, mostly young 20-somethings, develop the legislation where then the congressman or congresswoman takes on as the authors of the bill. The staffers would ask to come up with legislative solutions to horribly complex problems, draft up a memo to be reviewed by the congressmen/woman, and then finally, maybe, debated on the floor. To the staffer’s defensive, they have the resource of field experts, think tanks, and other researchers to answer questions and help develop ideas into bills. However, what ends up on the table of the politicians is what they have picked and chose to be beneficial to their boss, i.e. what will help them get reelect so you have a job next election.

Then their bosses take the credit if it passes. Meanwhile he or she has to fly to their respective district to fund raise for the next election cycle midweek. Leaving the staffers back in DC, the cycle continues onto the next issue. Now I am not criticizing the staffers per se. Nor am I giving the politicians shit either. It’s very much how the system evolved overtime to focus on fundraising and elections and power, and not so much on issues, problem-solving, and betterment of society.

Since the intensification of money in politics to buy TV commercial time, and term limits, it’s been exhausting to the politicians to fly back and forth, debate legislation and move bills. It’s asking a lot for a young kids, again my age, to come up with nicely packaged solutions for very big problems. Often times, then the obstacles of getting the votes necessary to move bills is quite cumbersome and difficult.

That’s were politics come in to play, i.e. compromises and dealings. That’s not bad at all, but the consequences then becomes what’s is going to make my constituents happy, not what is going to be good for the entire society, or make sense for that matter. More importantly, the compromises get so water down that the bills intended impact no longer make sense or too weak to do anything. Kind of like that counting slaves only 3/5th of man for population vote in the Congress. I suspect the reason why we have laws that seem to contradict itself, or are vague, or have deliberate loopholes is the result of “too many cooks to one pot.” Everybody is adding or subtracting input into the process. I haven’t yet got the President’s veto powers or the special interest group on K-Street, a special area in DC where the top lobbying firms resided.

Now if you wanted to create change, where can you do it? Is it the staffer, who is trying to 1-up his or her fellow peer in moving up the ladder? Is it calling your representative, who actually has a team of interns answering your emails and phone calls, and asking to vote yeah or nay on certain issues? Is it belonging to union or interest group like N.O.W.? Maybe, but sometimes it comes with some baggage.

I simply don’t know. And this is why I am disenchanted. My idealism has been challenged by harsh reality. I’ve developed overtime a philosophical posture towards politics and problems, to whatever works by whoever; never minding political parties, conservative or liberal. I don’t care. I care about what works, what makes senses, and if it’s realistic to achieve. Whatever idea that is rationale makes me interested. Whatever is idealogical turns me off. In a system like in DC, I shrug-off the political debates, rather the liberals and conservatives yelling at each other, and defend what will work in the real world.

If some young kid comes up with a good idea, then great. If the representative passes solid healthcare reform, fantastic.

Don’t get me wrong though. One thing I’m is still idealistic about is faith in Democracy. It’s best form of government after every other form has been exhausted. Churchill, you silly goose.

Scapegoat

What is it about the human that we must scapegoat? There is a certain amount of scapegoating that goes on in this society that make you wonder: is it part of human nature? 

We’ve picked on the Native Americans, then Blacks, then Chinese, then Polish, then Irish, then Italians, then Jews, then Japanese, then Vietnamese, Hispanics, and so on. 

Political correctness took hold of the culture’s intolerance towards race and calm it down. Even the gays can celebrate for society’s effort in reducing the word, “faggot,” in high schools, work arena, and public areas. 

I dare say the N-word is a curse word on to itself. It shows how much culture has changed. 

But one group that strikes to mind that many people in very public space can still joke around and get away with it, are fat people  

Fat. Obesity. Heifer. Porker. Pig. Fatass. Lardass. Flab. Flabby. Fatty. 

People in this country are much more forgiving towards alcoholics and drug addicts, who have done many destructive things to their lives and hurt those who love them, then fat people. Think about it. People are pulled back when a 300 pound women eats an entire large pizza. But we celebrate one someone tips back a fifth of vodka? 

I think our collective aggression and the fear of the other in human nature goes somewhere and expresses in someway. Our political correct culture clamped down on the intolerance for many groups like gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, and beliefs. But fat people, they are one of the last remaining groups to be picked on. 

Just think about what joke you can get away with, be it in school or at work: a racist, sexist, religious, or fat joke?

 

Imma n Luv Wit a Stripper

Let’s talk about strippers

A few of my buddies dated strippers, or exotic dancers as they like to be called. This was always a mystery to how they did it. On the surface it doesn’t seem like you can pick them up at their work. If you so happened to have dated a stripper before you knew she was stripper, that doesn’t count. Not too long ago, though, my buddies spilled the beans to me on their method.

So a usual experience at strip club is a group of guys go out to the club, and circle around the stage to watch girls go topless, maybe bottomless, and dance to Def Leopard or Usher. With tongues hanging to their knees, eyes glued to boobs, butt, and maybe more, guys shamelessly drop cash like a slot machine. A few girls come around to offer a private dance at a given rate. And oh yeah, this retarded service: illegal to offer and serve alcohol, they suggest juice for you.

A few guys are infatuated by the girls and are quick to say yes to a private lap dance. So you strike conversation during your dance. And here’s the futile attempt to pick her up. You get excited in getting her number. Yet, you find out it’s the number to the club. Bummer.

According to a dear, dear, dear, dear, dear friend, you have to go to the club and sit back. Buy a beer, and when the girls come around, just simply say you are just there to kill some time and a drink a brew. If they offer a dance, say nay. That’s when you are putting some groundwork in.

After few times doing just that, you get noticed. The girls talk about you, backstage, because you are not the one with a tongue hanging down or eyes glued. You seem sane and normal–and that intrigues their interest. You are that mysterious guy they want to know more about.

So after while, you can strike this conversation:
What’s your name?
My name is Candy, but my real name is Alex.
Oh yeah? Alex, what time you getting off?
(If she says when the club closes and her friend is picking her up, then dead end, brother.)
But if she says, “I can leave anytime I want,” then game on.

Before people start being critical, allow me to add: strippers need love too. Let’s not be judgmental and declare picking girls up at the club is morally wrong. Nay.

And before people think I dated a stripper, I don’t have that slick of game. But I guess, thanks, though.

Editor’s note: beware it’s very common for a stripper to carry some baggage when dating; be it trauma history, abusive boyfriend she can’t shake, or the occasional kids she crank out in high school.