Time for a Change

Sitting here watching the news, which was really not unexpected, I realize it’s time for a change. I realize that both presidential candidates talked a lot about change, so that some might think we could expect change regardless of the outcome of the election. Cynics, on the the other hand, might think that neither candidate would actually deliver substantial change, and that it’s likely to be business as usual. But I’m talking about change on a more local level. It was time to change the bumper stickers on my car, dubbed “The Protestmobile” by some of my friends.

I actually changed the stickers earlier today, in confident anticipation of an outcome which finally played out the way it hoped. Earlier this morning,
this was what the back of my car looked like:

If one of my Facebook buddies is reading this, he might now realize, as most others already did, that my comment about needing to choose a candidate was made with tongue firmly in cheek. As shown above, there was never any doubt as to my choice of candidate.

With the outcome of the election looking fairly certain, I thought this change would be appropriate:

I suppose, as mentioned above, that change would have been likely regardless of the outcome. I don’t think I would have felt comfortable with the “End of an Error” sticker with a McCain victory. I know that Bush’s eight years have been so awful that his exit should be a relief under any circumstances. But I really think a McCain victory would have been compounding an error, not ending it. But I probably would have felt compelled to remove the impeachment sticker, as I don’t think it would have been justified. And the “F” sticker, although it would still have reflected my sentiments, would no longer have been as clever without the irritating “W” stickers that it was mocking.

As I write this, I remember the 1992 election, George H. W. Bush vs Bill Clinton. Late in the campaign, the polls were favoring Clinton, and Bush said “It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.” A couple of weeks later, when Bush came to Lexington, one of my co-workers wanted to greet him at the airport with a sign that said “George, the fat lady’s warming up”

On election night, I got a several phone calls from my buddy as the returns came in, and it was obvious that he was indulging in celebratory adult beverages as the evening progressed. About the time the networks called the race for Clinton, my phone rang and I answered it to hear the horrible shrieking of a drunk doing his best imitation of an opera diva. Right now, I feel like shrieking that way.

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