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Poppinjay · 12-09-2005, 09:39 AM

Frank Reynolds reported the shooting death of President Ronald Reagan the day Jamie and I played war in his grandfather’s field. We came in to his house and saw his grandfather watching TV, in the middle of the day – odd for a workaholic farmer. He told us what had happened, a deranged young man had broken through Reagan’s security detail, slaying a policeman and wounding the press secretary. He then turned the gun on the president as he fell back into his limo. The shot was to the head, and deadly. The gunner claimed he had love in his heart for Jodi Foster.

While some events like that do make a tremendous mark in some people’s lives, I never knew how this simple action would affect me time and again. George Herbert Walker Bush, the man who had tagged Reagan’s monetary policies as “voodoo economics” became president, vowing that America’s business is business. After shearing taxes for the wealthy, and increasing the percentage of the middle class, he was soundly defeated by Walter Mondale in 1984. By that time, the country was in turmoil with a 19% unemployment rate and many large cities that had become nearly lawless. Bush himself had to be transported about DC in an armored colonnade.

Unfortunately, Mondale was not a strong enough leader to give the people hope, or restore the country to her former dignity. Two years later, I started college at a beautiful liberal arts campus in the south, only to discover that title III funds had been eliminated by the government. Those are the kinds of things that they don’t put in the Peterson’s guides. So, out went the broadcast journalism program, as well as the cleaning service, maintenance, and lawn care. The following Spring, our contemporary lit class wished to convene on the lawn in front of the dorms, but the grass hadn’t been cut in months, and was tall, and full of locusts. When the grass was finally cut, the college PR department asked us to hold class outside again so they could take a picture for their brochure. They said they wanted people to think everything was “all right” at the college.

As happens at colleges, speakers arrive and give lectures. Even at small schools like ours, people of fame or import come, whereas they would never set foot in the town if not for the school. I attended a lecture given by Sara Brady on the subject of gun control. She was for it. She said she never would have guessed how things would change after her husband had been shot. I had to agree.

My junior year was the first election I could participate in. Given the choice between Mondale and Bob Dole, I elected to vote for Lenora Fulani. I was a dumb kid. Dole won in a landslide. I felt good about it. He seemed decent. He didn’t hide his troubles, his divorce, his regrettable campaign tactics in his youth. He ran a gentlemanly campaign, while Mondale seemed to be continually making gaffs. I thought things would be better. I was wrong.

With no restoration of my major, I took an English degree instead and still managed to get out in four years. Our graduation speaker was the former Secretary of Transportation, Elizabeth Dole. I don’t recall a blinking word she said, other than she had grown up in nearby Salisbury, and that it was also the home of Andrew Jackson. I was … not really hungover so much as still drunk from the night before.

The following four years were spent living precariously without healthcare, employed only part time at three, sometimes four different jobs. During this time, I withdrew socially because I had no time for friends or socializing. The one time I was active was when some hick from Arkansas ran for president. I didn’t like him. When he announced on C-Span, I thought, “this is a joke, who would vote for this guy?” I supported Paul Tsongas. Probably for no other reason than he wrote a book. In the end, of course the hick won the primaries, and I supported him. I also dearly hoped it would be the year we turn our Jesse Helms, but a last minute racial campaign nipped that.

When Clinton’s policies finally started to take root, unemployment dropped and I found a position. In Kansas. Whenever I tell people I lived in Kansas, they look at me like I have snakes in my hair. Hell, when I told Kansans that I was from North Carolina, the common response was, “what the hell are you doing here?” One of my first assignments was to cover the “Bob Dole Thank You Tour”. It was his offering after making the statement, “I’m going to the White House or home to Kansas!” I met him in a tiny room with the local print media. He was short. Kind of puny. I asked him who he thought the next GOP frontrunner would be. “McCain” he replied. He had just given McCain a large donation. His wife was furious because she had her own aspirations, but the failed administrations of both Bob Dole and George HW Bush had put a severe taint on Liddy and George W Bush.

After the second Clinton inauguration kicked off, I found a job in DC. I was very happy to be rid of Kansas. Things looked up immediately. I met a girl who had interned at the White House and we started dating. She told me the president was a horn dog and had hit on her. She flirted back, back didn’t let things go any further since we were dating. She was kind of chubby, but I’m no Jack Lalane. Or Charles Atlas.

Alas, we broke up when I called one of her friends a bitter hag. Monnie had this friend who had begged her to get a meeting with Clinton so she could pesker him for a position in his administration. She was just all around unpleasant. I don’t know why Monnie liked her, but she had an odd habit of collecting people like philatelists collect defective stamps – the weirder the more valuable. It wasn’t a terrible breakup. Though she was a freak in bed, it doesn’t work well to also be a bit of a freak at dinner parties, in the office, on the metro…

So I decided to settle down. Find a nice girl, start a 401k, you know, adult shit. The economy was humming and I started dating Dee. She had been a press secretary, but had left because she was unhappy with the dividing of duties. She’s Catholic, a bit of a drinker, a few years older, but blonde and cute. We have twelve children.

12-09-2005, 09:39 AM	#2 (permalink)
Poppinjay You had me at hello Location: DC/Coastal VA	This story is 90% true Frank Reynolds reported the shooting death of President Ronald Reagan the day Jamie and I played war in his grandfather’s field. We came in to his house and saw his grandfather watching TV, in the middle of the day – odd for a workaholic farmer. He told us what had happened, a deranged young man had broken through Reagan’s security detail, slaying a policeman and wounding the press secretary. He then turned the gun on the president as he fell back into his limo. The shot was to the head, and deadly. The gunner claimed he had love in his heart for Jodi Foster. While some events like that do make a tremendous mark in some people’s lives, I never knew how this simple action would affect me time and again. George Herbert Walker Bush, the man who had tagged Reagan’s monetary policies as “voodoo economics” became president, vowing that America’s business is business. After shearing taxes for the wealthy, and increasing the percentage of the middle class, he was soundly defeated by Walter Mondale in 1984. By that time, the country was in turmoil with a 19% unemployment rate and many large cities that had become nearly lawless. Bush himself had to be transported about DC in an armored colonnade. Unfortunately, Mondale was not a strong enough leader to give the people hope, or restore the country to her former dignity. Two years later, I started college at a beautiful liberal arts campus in the south, only to discover that title III funds had been eliminated by the government. Those are the kinds of things that they don’t put in the Peterson’s guides. So, out went the broadcast journalism program, as well as the cleaning service, maintenance, and lawn care. The following Spring, our contemporary lit class wished to convene on the lawn in front of the dorms, but the grass hadn’t been cut in months, and was tall, and full of locusts. When the grass was finally cut, the college PR department asked us to hold class outside again so they could take a picture for their brochure. They said they wanted people to think everything was “all right” at the college. As happens at colleges, speakers arrive and give lectures. Even at small schools like ours, people of fame or import come, whereas they would never set foot in the town if not for the school. I attended a lecture given by Sara Brady on the subject of gun control. She was for it. She said she never would have guessed how things would change after her husband had been shot. I had to agree. My junior year was the first election I could participate in. Given the choice between Mondale and Bob Dole, I elected to vote for Lenora Fulani. I was a dumb kid. Dole won in a landslide. I felt good about it. He seemed decent. He didn’t hide his troubles, his divorce, his regrettable campaign tactics in his youth. He ran a gentlemanly campaign, while Mondale seemed to be continually making gaffs. I thought things would be better. I was wrong. With no restoration of my major, I took an English degree instead and still managed to get out in four years. Our graduation speaker was the former Secretary of Transportation, Elizabeth Dole. I don’t recall a blinking word she said, other than she had grown up in nearby Salisbury, and that it was also the home of Andrew Jackson. I was … not really hungover so much as still drunk from the night before. The following four years were spent living precariously without healthcare, employed only part time at three, sometimes four different jobs. During this time, I withdrew socially because I had no time for friends or socializing. The one time I was active was when some hick from Arkansas ran for president. I didn’t like him. When he announced on C-Span, I thought, “this is a joke, who would vote for this guy?” I supported Paul Tsongas. Probably for no other reason than he wrote a book. In the end, of course the hick won the primaries, and I supported him. I also dearly hoped it would be the year we turn our Jesse Helms, but a last minute racial campaign nipped that. When Clinton’s policies finally started to take root, unemployment dropped and I found a position. In Kansas. Whenever I tell people I lived in Kansas, they look at me like I have snakes in my hair. Hell, when I told Kansans that I was from North Carolina, the common response was, “what the hell are you doing here?” One of my first assignments was to cover the “Bob Dole Thank You Tour”. It was his offering after making the statement, “I’m going to the White House or home to Kansas!” I met him in a tiny room with the local print media. He was short. Kind of puny. I asked him who he thought the next GOP frontrunner would be. “McCain” he replied. He had just given McCain a large donation. His wife was furious because she had her own aspirations, but the failed administrations of both Bob Dole and George HW Bush had put a severe taint on Liddy and George W Bush. After the second Clinton inauguration kicked off, I found a job in DC. I was very happy to be rid of Kansas. Things looked up immediately. I met a girl who had interned at the White House and we started dating. She told me the president was a horn dog and had hit on her. She flirted back, back didn’t let things go any further since we were dating. She was kind of chubby, but I’m no Jack Lalane. Or Charles Atlas. Alas, we broke up when I called one of her friends a bitter hag. Monnie had this friend who had begged her to get a meeting with Clinton so she could pesker him for a position in his administration. She was just all around unpleasant. I don’t know why Monnie liked her, but she had an odd habit of collecting people like philatelists collect defective stamps – the weirder the more valuable. It wasn’t a terrible breakup. Though she was a freak in bed, it doesn’t work well to also be a bit of a freak at dinner parties, in the office, on the metro… So I decided to settle down. Find a nice girl, start a 401k, you know, adult shit. The economy was humming and I started dating Dee. She had been a press secretary, but had left because she was unhappy with the dividing of duties. She’s Catholic, a bit of a drinker, a few years older, but blonde and cute. We have twelve children. __________________ I think the Apocalypse is happening all around us. We go on eating desserts and watching TV. I know I do. I wish we were more capable of sustained passion and sustained resistance. We should be screaming and what we do is gossip. -Lydia Millet Last edited by Poppinjay; 12-09-2005 at 09:42 AM..