Filibluster

I was bonding with TV last night, watching an embittered Barack Obama glower into the cameras, bemoaning the potential loss of something called the 'public option' for his health care proposal. I was disgusted with the plan's opponents and their bureaucratic red-tape and obstruction. 'How dare they?' I wondered, pacing the floor. Then I realized something: I know next to squat about the health care plan. Hell, I don't even know how to change my own oil, let alone what an HMO is.

Look at the twisted, shouting faces in the picture above. Who, or what has influenced their opinions? What has gotten them so moved as to make signs, take to the streets and protest? Who among them has a comprehensive understanding of all the subtle intricacies contained within the bill? Where did they get that cool picture of Frankenstein?

I am acutely aware of two things: whatever opinions I have about the rigmarole are based on snippets of Bill Maher's stand up, various website commentary and that Simpson's episode where Homer has a triple bypass and has to pay forty-thousand because he doesn't have insurance. That just ain't right.

Okay, it's somewhat more than that, but the important thing is that I am well aware of the gaps in my policy knowledge, which is why I don't attend many cocktail parties. Whenever talk turns towards political policy, I find myself wondering which is the better Led Zeppelin album.

Ten years ago, this was not the case. Quite without prompting, my twenty-one year old self would sermonize about everything, from abortion, term limits, the latest Court nominee, education funding, conceal and carry, teen pregnancy, single mothers, smoking bans and the quality of new fall sitcoms. I was an old-testament guy: I liked my coffee black and my parole denied.

That I'm more informed and politically aware now is beyond a doubt. My twenty-one year old self was a boorish, selfish, idiotic prick with great hair who once spent five hours at a house party swilling cheap wine, and heatedly debating the historical importance of Jesus. As I recall, Carlo Rossi emerged victorious. I've since learned that health care, much like the continued casting of Harrison Ford is vague, mysterious, and a little unsettling.

Maybe nobody really understands these things in totality. Like most things in life, you grab hold of and make important those smaller, more comprehensible things, the manageable things that enhance and support our happiness, provide for conversation and light, stimulating debate with friends and colleagues. Some bill will eventually get passed, jokes will be made on the talk shows, and I will know just enough to bluff my way through another social situation: Physical Graffiti is Zeppelin's best. On that, there can be no debate.