Even if Barack Obama wins, tomorrow could be the beginning of one of the most disappointing experiences of my life.

I’ve never been politically active.  In fact, I’ve never even really cared.  I mean, I followed elections and supported who I supported, however, it was with a degree of interest that could only be matched by a child being forced to study pilgrims.  I mean, at least for me, first grade should’ve completely been about dinosaur dioramas and lunchtime gang fights on the tricycles.  As I got older, a good day in America became getting to the bathroom in the morning, jerking one off, and listening to The Band (consisting of four Canadians and only one Americano).  If everything worked out according to plan, I was confident in the fact that I lived in a well-greased and absolutely dominant country.

I wish I was smart enough then to know better.  Despite 9/11, the absolute obliteration of a hefty budget surplus, Iraq, Afghanistan, and the fall of the American image; I bogged around day to day absolutely oblivious to it all.  To me, America dominated because rock’n'roll is American, burgers are American, and we always won a truckload of medals in the Olympics.

Fast forward to 2008 and here I am, while on a road trip to Seattle to see The Sonics play a Halloween show at The Paramount and, along the way, run every trail I can get my feet on; sitting in front of my sister’s computer in San Francisco making calls to some random person in Ohio for Barack Obama.  It’s a Saturday morning.  On the following Monday, I will be walking all over Portland, Oregon vote canvassing for Obama.

To be honest, I originally picked Obama because it was cooler than being Republican and all the Ron Paul revolution shit bothered me.  And, for some time, this was a satisfying perspective to pursue because Pete Doherty was still alive and that’s cool.

What the fuck happened then?  Why am I talking to a Cleveland Browns fan about early voting right now?

A few events changed the way I viewed both the upcoming election and politics in general.

The first event revolved around a lengthy conversation I had with my friend Miki’s dad at one of many parties that Miki hosts in his fabled ‘garage.’  I noticed his dad conversing with a few of the more opinionated kiddos at the party.  Since I find some sick joy in the fact that I can pull shit out of my ass with absolute grace and precision, I decided to join in on the conversation.  They were talking about immigration policy.  After some time, what started off as a debate amongst weekend pundits became a one-to-one ideological discussion regarding the ideal way to handle immigration. Although my points were mostly fabrications of my creative imagination, based on some blurbs I read in The Economist when I tried to look like I cared in front of the cute intellectual reading Truffaut’s Hitchcock at Barnes and Noble, the subsequent development of a real; coherent political thought, a thought that Miki’s dad seemed to find intriguing enough to discuss for three hours, excited me.  Keep in mind; I haven’t talked to this person since a few silly sentence fragments in pre-school.  However, here I am having a real conversation about politics with him.

I must note that, although it was fun, the sudden introduction of his close relationship to The Ramones took immediate precedence and took up most of the last two hours of our conversation.

Following this conversation, I went into a rather inspired research and development session in the hopes of forming a thorough and sufficient political stance.  As a further result of this session, I sealed my support for Barack Obama.

Despite this, I made sure that my political opinions were formed on actual belief and knowledge, as opposed to, blind admiration. I was a maverick and I wanted to reach across the aisle as much as I could (NOTE: please laugh). All joking aside, I was afraid of falling for Obama the rhetorical Romeo and not Obama the Senator running for President.

This worked quite well for me until one of my co-workers, at the interestingly right-wing Salcor Inc., called me a ‘fuckin’ Obama lover.’ Suddenly, without hesitation, I cursed the man for being ignorant and went into a series of rebuttals to all of his misguided perceptions about Barack Obama.

“Hey, did you know Barack Obama is a Muslim?”

“Barack Obama will only help black people.”

Even the overt racism couldn’t faze me.

“Eew, who wants a n*gger for President?”

Finally, however, the bastard went too far.

“If he’s elected, he’s going to be fuckin’ assassinated.”

A cold shiver went down my spine upon hearing these words.

I thought, “Did he really say that?”

I was sincerely on the verge of tears. I didn’t have a response for him. I mean, I was ready with a response, a rather lengthy response that is beyond the scope of this piece; however, I was so floored with fear, despair, and disbelief that I couldn’t even utter a word. I couldn’t believe that someone was capable of saying something like that without a hint of remorse. What really got to me, however, was the realization that it could happen. If John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., and Malcolm X could happen, who’s to say that Barack Obama couldn’t happen? Suddenly, Barack Obama became more than a candidate. Although I consoled myself with the obvious idiocy and unlikelihood of what he said, I realized that my inability to respond to what he said symbolized more than disbelief.

Barack Hussein Obama II had become something that I was emotionally invested in. He became something that I was invested in so much that I burdened myself with the job of protecting his name with vigilant ferocity. I was so invested in him that even the dooming proclamation of an assembly line buffoon was enough to shake me to the core.

And so here I am, typing this piece a few hours before I take my dad to his first voting booth, looking forward to the most important election I will ever face in my life. I will never be inspired as much as I was throughout this election. I went from absolute apatheticism to passionate dedication. I doubt I’ll feel anything as invigorating as the first time I felt this transition—at a house party with a person I hadn’t talked to since I was five. It so happens that this life changing moment coincided with my support for Barack Obama.

I believe in change indeed.  I also believe enough to completely trash my attempts at being some uninspired independent Democrat or whatever I was trying to be before I became an ‘I heart Obie’ looney toon.

If John McCain wins, it is what it is. I’m not going to walk around pretending like I’m going to take some stand and pack up for Canada (or in my case Berlin). Instead, I’ll just put on my running shoes and listen to These New Puritans while I run up Mission Road like I do every morning. What would be more shattering, in the long run, is the realization that Barack Obama isn’t everything I fell in love with.

It’s with absolute concern for my personal well-being that I write this piece. I’ve fallen into the trap of Obama’s lure and am currently unable to avoid heaving insanely unrealistic levels of expectation upon his shoulders. I’ll walk around trying to intelligently mutter something along the lines of, “Remember, expect presidential progress;” however, I only say these things to prevent those around me from falling into the same trap. I’ve become absolutely useless when it comes to being realistically political. I believe in a romantic vision of Barack Obama changing America into the finest example of a republic.  Under Barack Obama’s meticulous engineering, America the republic will shatter all other forms of government with its all-conquering perfection.  Anything else would be absolutely heartbreaking.

I’ve become Henry Burton for Jack Stanton in Primary Colors.

Oh well. It’s late.  It’s too late. I’m tired and I’m rambling.  Passion, despite its destructive qualities, is a beautiful thing.  Nothing motivates one away from inaction like belief.  I’ll settle into my routine regardless of what happens tomorrow.

One thing’s for sure: Please vote. And if you can, whoever you support, keep campaigning till the end. Go out, make phone calls, and knock on doors. I’ll be there. It’ll be fun. We’ll put on Run DMC and stomp around the phone banks like a muthafucka.

Unless you’re there for McCain/Palin.

Then you get this:

// Jeggi