“Tomorrow dawns like a
suicide.” U2, Sleep Like a Baby Tonight
Part I
Not having time to piss away, I didn’t watch the first GOP
debate, either the Kid’s Table version or the Main Event. The whole thing is
contrived and ridiculous and serves only to show how skilled our political
schemers are at making a total mockery of democracy. From what I gather after
skimming various media sources, bluster-king Donald Trump was the big “winner.”
Most of the candidates made at least one patently absurd statement, and none of
them talked about important issues like climate change, income inequality, race
relations or prison reform. Classic! Just ignore what you don’t want to talk
about and poof! it ceases to exist.
Over the next ten months or so Trump and Walker and Rubio
and Bush and Paul will pound on one another, shove one another further right,
spew all manner of blatantly false and stupid gibberish, while the talking
heads on the tube will jabber about poll numbers and campaign coffers, which
horse is surging and which is fading. Substance, depth, historical context?
Forget it. Facts and coherence are completely optional in this day and age; Fox
News requires neither. The candidates will bang on about illegal immigration,
border fences, abortion and Planned Parenthood, Iran, their love and fidelity
for Israel – all distraction issues. The GOP has spent the past six years
obstructing every proposal, idea, or suggestion made by the White House, a
stance which has paralyzed the government at a time when people, real people,
are in need of help, and the most pressing issue of our time, climate change,
requires real action.
Part II
Meanwhile, it’s Fiesta here on the American Riviera, Old
Spanish Days, that magic time of year when white people make fools of
themselves by donning sombreros and shawls and shouting “Viva La Fiesta!” at every
opportunity. For five days the inconvenient fact that the Spaniards were brutal
colonizers is ignored. All the local pols ride in the Fiesta parade up State
Street (billed as the largest equestrian parade in the nation); they wave, blow
kisses, point and smile to people they know, make sure they are seen by
potential voters, photographed by the local papers. The best moment of the
parade for me was when Nick Welsh, the Angry Poodle columnist at the SB Indy,
tossed a cascarone (an egg filled with confetti) that barely missed County
Supervisor Salud Carbajal.
De La Guerra plaza is a sea of vendors selling tacos,
tortas, burritos, churros, roasted corn, soda, water, funnel cakes and
lemonade. Grills hiss and smoke rises into the sky. Across the street at the
beer garden – which I am renaming the Gabacho Pit – 20 and 30 something’s look
for hook-up opportunities and cough up $6 for a plastic glass of beer. The guy
I was standing next to nudged his buddy and said, “Man, all this fine architecture
is making me rethink my wedding vows.” Have at it, pal. After one beer, my wife
and I became bored and bailed from that scene.
The real Fiesta happens on the east side of town, off Milpas
Street, at Our Lady of Guadalupe church, where the food is as authentic as the
crowd. You will see pale faces at Guadalupe, but for the most part it’s a
Latino crowd, people with deep roots in Santa Barbara, family ties, history. Long
lines at the food booths and plenty of private security to make sure matters
don’t spiral out of hand, lots of children, elderly people with knowing eyes,
trinkets and wares for sale. Guadalupe is the place to be.
If only the presidential campaign were as short as Fiesta.
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