Mysterious Friend Makes the Case for Camelot (Page 1 of 2)

“There you go again,” said a voice trying too hard to sound like Ronald Reagan in the throes of his American dreaming.

“Don’t you ever knock?” I snapped without looking up.

“Nah!” my friend dropped the Reagan bit. “Don’t you know that in the post-9/11 world, knocking’s for sissies?”

“Yeah, well, you know I love talking to you, but Friday morning’s when I write my column, as you’re very well aware.”

“But that’s when you need me most, my friend. I’m your bullshit detector. Take that last column. You coulda’ used me on that one. I read that and had to shake my head. There you go again with the Bush Bashing. Don’t you know it’s a new day?”

I turned and looked at him as he moved some papers and sat down in a spare wooden chair. He’d neatly bundled muscle and flab in red running shorts and a red T-shirt that read Camelot Redux in green. His left hand held a Bloody Mary, complete with celery flag at full mast, no doubt liberated from my fridge. It was my glass he drank from, for sure.

“Cheers,” he said, as he lofted and sipped.

“You celebrating something?”

“Yep,” he said, smacking his lips. “Renewal. The return of the King to the Wasteland. Excalibur. The King is dead, long live the King.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A world devoid of Dubya! New blood, brother! Slay the sacrificial beast.”

“You’re drunk,” I said. “How many of those have you had?”

“Jus’ the one? All right, two. I’m feeling good, that’s all. Had a nice run over here. Feels like springtime. Did you see the Obillary debate last night?”

“I saw it, sounded like the same old song-and-dance to me.”

“See, there you go, sounding old and cynical. What I bring to the table is the perspective of youth, my friend, and youth knows a new day’s dawnin’. Kids are turning out in droves at rallies, and the pollsters are missing it because they don’t call cell phone numbers.”

“Hah!” I said. “You’re every bit as old as I am. Look in the mirror.”

“Ah, but I’m young at heart, young enough to revel in being a walking contra- — make that a runnin’ — contra-diction.” He drank deep, then pulled a cigarette from a baggie in his shorts and lit up, blowing a brand new cloud my way.

I reached over and cracked the window in my home office, making a mental note to replace the screen, mangled last summer when casting a stray snake from the house. Long story.

“So indulge me,” he said. “I’m here to tell you that you need to set a new tone, my friend. It’s time we all took a fresh look at where we stand. A new optimism’s stirring. Don’t you feel it?”

“I guess so.”

“Be honest, don’t you have to actually TRY to work up the old anger these days? Democracy’s renewing us. OK, so the bastards stole the last two presidential elections. Yes, climate change is worse than we thought. The economy’s going to hell, the Neocons succeeded in annexing Iraq to the empire… ”

“What’s your point?”

“Despite all that, my friend, it’s a new day in America! How long’s it been since you’ve heard such heartening rhetoric out of two candidates as you heard from Obama and Hillary yesterday?”

“Well, Obama is inspiring,” I admitted, “but he’s no John Kennedy. And Hillary’s savvy and assertive, it’s true, but where’s the beef?”

“The beef’s where it’s always been. Out in the back 40 waiting to get bludgeoned, ground up, portioned out and cooked into somethin’ the public will swallow. I’m the first to admit substance is scarce in these campaigns. Still, the tone’s changed. “Subjects have changed. Take climate change. Even Dubya had to admit in his State of the Union address that it’s real. And when Schwarzenegger endorsed McCain, it sounded like an Earth Day speech. Whatever else you say about McCain… ”