The Redstar Perspective

See here for my recap of campaigning for Clinton in San Antonio.  I’m not sure what else might bring me to this city, but it sure was a treat tonight to spy a CNN reporter prepping outside the Alamo for what is surely the 8,999 story on why Clinton is a goner at any given moment.  Personally, I much prefer sociologist Manuel Castells cautioning me to “Remember the witches!” when I think about the significance of Sen. Clinton’s presidential campaign.

I arrived here last night; I depart on Wednesday.  Tomorrow is the TX primary/caucus chaos bonanza, where “vote early, vote often” is the mantra.  I am staying with a lovely Hispanic couple that is deeply religious and enthusiastically committed to Sen. Clinton.  I have a cab driver from Guinea that was the first of at least four people to ask me what happened that MA went for Clinton after Kennedy et al.’s endorsement.  Apparently, the Kennedy mystique and significance burns more brightly beyond the borders of Massachusetts.  Explaining to people that Ted’s opinion is not especially relevant and is rightly treated with suspicion by proper skeptical Massholes seems like an insufficient answer to the question.  Hell, I wish I knew why he, Kerry and Patrick found it necessary to go all out for Obama.

I phone banked, held a sign at an intersection, and assembled signs for the Clinton campaign all day. I tooled around with a retired grocery exec from Northern CA and a Latina nun from Nebraska.  I took in San Antonio’s Riverwalk but managed to find a much cooler spot for drinks and dinner a couple blocks away on Houston St.  (Probably the main drag of the old downtown - much more appealing than the Riverwalk for out of towners desiring some semblance of authenticity and history.)  The Alamo reminded me of Mt. Rushmore in that it was much smaller than I expected.  A plaque in front of it reprises some dying words from one of the Texas patriots.  At the risk of being inappropriately sardonic, may I say it seemed to me a foreshadow of nativism to come as it began with some complaint of being surrounded by Mexicans.   

During dinner I chatted with two entrepreneurs on either side of me at the bar - in town for a retail convention - about politics.  Both were gracious and interesting, with one a strong Clinton supporter from Northern Michigan, and the other a political agnostic and Republican from Orange County, CA.  Given I’ve worked for years with entrepreneurs, we were able to find common, cordial ground about the primary campaign and politics and policy more generally, without me having to lose any ideological ground.  I enjoyed it immensely.

After they departed, I was alone at the bar with three old white dudes, on who irony is long lost.  After eavesdropping on their conversation about McCain (if only he were Newt, they lamented), their own virility, and Vietnam, I was eventually enjoined by one of them in discussion.  Two were from Chicago, and the guy on the end expressed sympathy for Clinton that she couldn’t beat that “pipsqueak” who did nothing in the IL state senate but “sit in the back and smoke cigarettes.”  As he criticized her moves and strategy, I countered several times that I thought she’d done many of those things.  He loudly told me she hadn’t, and frequently cut me off with his own enthusiastic barstool quarterbacking.  When he got to the MSNBC debate, which he watched for “10 minutes,” and criticized her again for failing to make her case against Obama, I ironically noted that perhaps she had difficulty given she kept getting cut off when trying to deliver her message.  In all seriousness, he told me that wasn’t the case, and continued to harp on her. 

The conversation derailed further when one of his dinner companions told me Clinton was a lesbian, though improved immeasurably given this exchange:

Me: “of course, because all strong women are lesbians and man-hating.”

Buffoon closest to me: “Are you a lesbian?”

Buffoon farthest from me: “It’s ok though, because guys love lesbians.”

Me: “All lesbians?  I thought men liked only hot lesbians.  Or will any old dyke do?”

They were momentarily stymied, and shortly thereafter I took my exit.

I love dining alone at the bar!!  (Seriously, I do.)