Politics make for strange bedfellows. That’s why I keep waking up alone. I can’t fall asleep with all the jabbering. So, I read with a blurry-eyed wakefulness the Indy article, “Clinton Taps Laguna for Fundraising.” Wow, 370 people committed $2,700 a piece to attend one event at the Montage and another 60 wrote checks for $33,400 each to attend a more intimate event, a pajamas party at a local resident’s home I can’t reveal because the Secret Service told me to shut up about it or I’d become their favorite pet peeve.
I won’t be attending either event. And it’s not about the money. See, I’m mad at the Montage for moving the Christmas tree lighting event and two I sleep in the buff and have no pajamas to wear to the intimate event. My wife says that this is too much information to share with readers. But I say the truth will set us free, so we can all move to New Zealand, a pure and simple country founded by nudists, who railed against cover-ups and believe sheep should be shorn and nude, as well.
Okay, here’s what we know. There are 430 residents making a democratic donation and have pajamas to wear. That leaves 21,570 residents available to book passage to New Zealand on Aug. 23, the night of the fund raising events. I’ve secured transportation with Captain Dave’s Whale Watching in Dana Point. “I’m looking forward to the passage,” said Captain Dave. “After 40 years of whale watching, I’ll be relieved to take people to a real destination. I’ve never been to another port outside of Dana Point. Mother misinformed me that the world was flat.” According to Captain Dave, sunscreen lotion will be provided for free. Clothing and capitalist affectations will be tossed into the harbor along with Oprah Winfrey Chai tea.
It’s not like I never gave politics a try. I understand how things really work. In the sixth grade, I was elected classroom president. The term was for one school month. I managed to get re-elected for 20 consecutive months or the two years I spent in the sixth grade. I was also elected Captain of Patrols and put in charge of all school crosswalks. Fellow classmates, who chose not to vote for me, never crossed the road before the polls closed. It was a dynasty and I was king. Then came seventh grade.
My political career was over. The boys grew into great athletes. The girls admired their strength. I had none. Somehow, I missed out on the evolutionary growth spurt. Half my voting bloc disappeared into the arms of stronger candidates. I realized my time had passed. I grew bitter and hated all the politicians I could never be. I looked for love and support outside the political process. But every party I attended, invariably the topic of politics would be raised and animal spirits lifted. Mine did not. I didn’t fit in any more. The party invitations stopped coming. I became an outcast to the political process.
So here I am today. Nude and waiting in line at Captain Dave’s. I’m looking forward to the fresh start in New Zealand. I’ve got a copy of the Indy strategically located and will send pics from my new home of the free and the home of the bare.
Crantz’ wife will not be accompanying him. She is shopping for new pajamas.
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