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While I was contorted uncomfortably behind a desk, my hands barely able to reach into a snarl of computer cables that had to be straightened out before I could get a clue as to why the stuff that was coming out of the printer bore little discernible relationship to what I thought I was sending to the printer, the telephone rang. Under normal circumnstances, I would have let a machine tend to the phone, but I was the only one home that recent afternoon, and the family vehicles are of such a vintage that our tow chains and jumper cables hold honored and accessible positions.
(Our senior vehicle was a 1965 Dart GT, my grandmother's car that was on its fourth generation of Quillens. I sold this heirloom in June for $400 to a mechanically minded kid who was just out of high school and looking for a project car.'' That sounded like a good disposition, since our major use for it -- the paint had faded, the vinyl top was shredded, the rust was spreading -- had been to depress local property values by parking it in front of the house for months without moving it, although I did start it every fortnight or so just to be sure its slant six could still produce big clouds of blue smoke.)
That disturbing afternoon phone call was not from a stranded family member, although the voice was familiar. It was from Bill Owens, our governor. Or, as I learned seconds later, it was a recording of his voice.
I presume he wanted my vote, and would explain his major accomplishments in office, such as reducing the tourist deluge and curbing real-estate specilation by telling the world that all our state was on fire last summer. But I hung up before the message got that far.
To be honest, I actually slammed down'' the receiver. That phone hasn't worked properly since then, and if the Committee to Re-elect would like to send me a new two-line telephone to replace the one they caused me to damage, I will gladly provide shipping particulars and foreswear any legal action.
Even if I were on the state's new no-call'' list, this automated annoyance would still have been perfectly legal, since it is a form of political expression, and thus rightly protected by the First Amendment. And I could not fairly be angry just at Owens and his fellow Republicans, because back in August, I'd received a similar call from a Democratic candidate's digitized voice -- probably Rollie Heath, though it might have been Tom Strickland.
Attention Candidates: If you want my vote, don't call me to ask for it. Or more precisely, if you want to call me, call me yourself. Or have some human precinct volunteer make the call. If I get another recorded message from any candidate, I will not vote for that candidate. Anyone so lacking in common courtesy and common sense has no business holding any office of public honor or trust.
Perhaps that's not the right response, though. Maybe the recorded Owens call was actually a sly trick by the Heath campaign, to make people so mad at Telemarketer Bill Owens that not only would they vote against him, but they would be getting out the feathers and tar barrels if they heard he was coming to town.
Then again, if Colorado Democrats were that clever, they'd win some elections. As it is, the Democractic candidates seem to be bearing the brunt of those Call this miserable SOB and tell him that real Coloradans eat red meat, own mongrel dogs, and shoot to kill'' ads.
My favorites are the ones aimed at Tom Strickland. If I don't vote for him, it will be because he's a committed Drug Warrior with all those police endorsements, and I prefer that our senators pay some attention to the constitution that they swear to uphold. And I can't find anything in the federal constitution that says that it's any of the federal government's business what plant residues might be on my property or in my bloodstream. If only Wayne Allard would be true to his praise of limited government'' and individual responsibility.''
But that's not why they tell me to call Tom Strickland. For one thing, I can't figure out where to call him. First he's a 17th Street Lawyer,'' and then he turns into a Washington, D.C., lobbyist.''
We also hear that while thousands of Coloradans were losing their retirement investments on account of the Global Crossing frauds, Strickland was raking in big bucks. The ad doesn't say from where, it just implies a connection. You were probably earning money then, too, while those life savings were evaporating.
Strickland is stuck with Millionaire Lawyer Lobbyist,'' and I stil haven't figured out why he doesn't just admit it, with something like Yes, I'm a lawyer and a lobbyist. I'm good at it, so I'm a millionaire. Now, whose side do you want me to be on? If I'm your senator, I'll be on your side. If not, well, I need to work, and those greedy bastards pay well. It's your call.''
But as I noted earlier, Colorado Democrats just aren't that clever.
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