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Lacking that certain something Cringe By Your ManBy Rick Horowitz In my latest fever dreams, I see beyond things, and beneath them. Once or twice each night, when the dreams come, I am lifted off my feet and transported to a place I cannot recognize. When the breezes set me down at last, I find myself inside an enormous house with many rooms. I choose a room at random, turn the knob and push back the door. There are many people in this room, and at the front of the room, there hangs a large banner: "Embarrassed Democrats for Gore." There is always a banner in these fever dreams, whichever room I choose, and the banner always says the same thing: "Embarrassed Democrats for Gore." I find an empty chair -- in these fever dreams, there is always one empty chair -- and I sit and watch. There is turmoil in the room; I can feel it from the moment I enter. These are people in conflict. They know what they're supposed to do, what their head and heart and soul are directing them to do. Yet they struggle. I can see this, sense this, before anyone has uttered a word. Then they speak, and their turmoil is clear. The room is filled with people who are supposed to be supporting Al Gore in his quest to be president of the United States, who by every significant measure should be bubbling over with enthusiasm. He is one of them, a party man -- steadfast and loyal, hardworking and kind. He stands where they stand on the issues, and where he stands apart, he has his reasons, and his reasons are largely acceptable to them. They've known him for years. They've watched him shed the soft parts. They see how much he wants this job. They realize that his election would be good for them. They understand all this. And yet. And yet there's something about the way he goes about it, something in the mix of campaign tactics and personal style that makes them twitch, and sometimes wince. And sometimes blush. Does he have to come across as such a slasher? He cut his fellow Democrat to pieces during the primaries; it was not a pretty sight. Now he's trying to do the same thing to his Republican opponent. They're sure it will be every bit as bloody. Who Al Gore is, who he's most comfortable being, is Not the Other Guy. This is supposed to be reason enough to vote for him. The people in this room had hoped for more. They notice that, for the moment at least, he's not shouting as he sticks the knife in. When shouting seemed most effective, he'd shout. "I'll fight for you!" he'd bellow a dozen times a day, and bound into crowds like an amphetamized bunny. Now he offers his attacks in his best more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger voice -- the "risky" this and the "risky" that, the very essence of earnestness. If loud starts to poll better than sincere, he'll start shouting again; they have no doubt of it. He'll discard the earth tones. He'll start wearing ties. He'll stop hanging gear on his belt. What Al Gore does, what he's most comfortable doing, is Whatever Works. The people in this room had hoped for more. They're still waiting for the first genuine-sounding word to pass their man's lips, the first syllable (or even intonation) that doesn't feel calculated, calibrated and focus-grouped to a fare-thee-well. And in the meantime? In the meantime, they try to motivate themselves to do what they know they're supposed to do; why else those other banners hanging in the room? On the right-hand wall, Pat Robertson's face in a circle with a slash through it; if the Other Guy wins, the banner reminds them, Robertson and his friends will have even more power than they already do. On the left-hand wall, a simpler message: "It's the Supreme Court, stupid!" The next president, these people hardly need reminding, will get to choose two, three, even four justices over the next several years. They'd certainly rather have Al Gore doing the choosing. There's a third message swirling through my fever dreams as well, though it isn't quite a banner. Under the shirts and blouses and jackets, everyone in this room, and in every room I enter, is wearing precisely the same t-shirt. (I see beyond things, and also beneath them.) On this t-shirt are a donkey and a voting booth. The donkey is entering the voting booth. The donkey is holding his nose. I've seen happier donkeys. Posted 5/16/00. But
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Rick Horowitz