IF THERE'S ONE THING I like, it's a winner. Thus, as Obama comes ever closer to clinching the nomination, I find him ever more attractive. I mean, why root for a loser? Instead, just say, "Oh, I don't know, I like them both; I'll be happy either way."
Perhaps my ambivalence is rooted in my deep seeded guilt at being the white male oppressor. If I come out too strong for Hilary, I'm a racist; too strong for Barack and I'm just reinforcing the glass ceiling. After all, isn't it her turn? Doesn't she deserve it? Too bad there isn't a gay candidate, this would be so much easier.
Ultimately, I blame New York. If I still lived in DC, my friends would never let me get away with being on the fence. Here in The City, however, people break out in hives when you try to talk politics with them.
It's unsettling, however, that I somehow have developed stronger opinions about who I think should be the next American Idol than I have about who should be the next president, despite listening to NPR every day and reading the New York Times online religiously. What's the point in learning so much about the candidates if someone hasn't told me what to think by now?
Well, consider my dilemma solved.
Barack Obama-sistible
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