The Gari Ticket

I was away in Nantucket the last few days, sorely testing the limits of my phone's camera, and marvelling at how in America even the rich elitist northeastern WASPy bits can be turned into something approaching a theme park. Which is not to say, by the way, that it wasn't hell pretty, and even occasionally, hell relaxing, just that sometimes messy is good, and sometimes you don't need to buy the sweatshirt, and red trousers are rarely OK as fashion statements. Nantucket makes Padstow look edgy, though it is a little easier to get a sunburn there, what with the place being on the same latitude as Portugal, whence the local name for white bread comes.

Bah, pitched back into the maelstrom of NY finance, with nary a minute to reflect on the peculiarities of Massachusetts. What I must do, though is present my endorsements for tomorrow's Democratic primary. The legality of this step is endlessly worth debating, and we should always bear in mind the Clark County fiasco, but I'll take the risk of being accused of subverting the democratic primary for the middle of Brooklyn, since the Borough is, in effect, a one-party state.

As this Kos diarist notes, in the middle of a worthy run-down of the 11th congressional district, a sponge cake on the Democratic party line could beat the Republicans. So stay in bed in November, but come out extra early tomorrow, and vote as Uncle Gari, the creepy foreigner tells you.

For congress, in the 11th district: Chris Owens. His Dad being the sitting candidate is the only mark against him. Otherwise, he's thoughtful, engaged, eloquent, and passionate. Yes, he's against the stadium, that little old thing tearing the Borough's liberal element apart. But he's a cut above the corporate stooge, the Ratner stooge, and, of all things, the Clarence Norman stooge.

For state assembly, if you're in 50, you don't vote, if you're in 57, vote Batson. That Jeffries chap seems nice enough, but he's not particularly sound on the you-know-what-massive-property-theft.

For the rest, hold your nose and vote for Spitzer and against Mark Green, who I have decided is actually odious. There's also a few committee places and delegates to the judicial convention spots up for grabs, and at this point my feel for the minutiae breaks down. Either you know what the hell is going on, or you're quite within your rights to assume that the entire process has been cooked up from Clarence Norman's jail cell, and that you want no part of it.

Needless to say, the important one is 11. It would really be wonderful if this election wasn't bought, even if that meant that that America decided to clamp down on non-financial support for US politicians from foreigners as well. It would be a price I would gladly bear. Set your clocks, b*tches.