Killing Me Softly

I’ve been getting donation requests from the Obama campaign for months, if not years, and I’ve mostly ignored them. I made my contribution through a fund, not direct, quite a while back, and I have no desire to have dinner with George Clooney, or whomever the celebrity of the week might be.

The campaign has raised the stakes, though, with an appeal that strikes right to my liberal-geek lizard-brain: meeting both President Obama and former President Clinton. Be still my heart!

I realize that we will not sit down and have an hour long rap session, or even a cozy chat over a cup of herbal tea. It will be more like, “Hi, thanks,” a handshake, a photo op, and then I will be hustled away to stand at the rope line, or whatever. And I don’t care!

The odds are probably worse than a lottery ticket, and the cost is about the same. I don’t play the lottery, or gamble at all, really, but maybe, tomorrow, I will throw $15 bucks at the campaign in the hope that I might actually win. The odds are bad. I don’t win random drawings. I win essay contests and competitions that require sustained, maximum effort, but not drawings or dice rolls or coin flips. Not ever.

On the other hand, a bird pooped on my shoulder about an hour ago, so maybe this is a good time to trust to happenstance.


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