Image by Heliotrop3, used under CC license

Something I’ve noticed about the hard-right contingent: they really hate being ignored. They’re fine with being called crazy, fanatical, even fascist. But call them irrelevant or, even worse, fail to mention them at all, and they go apeshit.

For example, I always felt Ann Coulter’s increasingly bizarre pronouncements last year were her way of railing against her decline into obscurity, the equivalent of a dog peeing on the carpet to reclaim her owner’s attention. But that attention was stolen away by a new, more wholesome-looking puppy from Alaska, and poor Ann has been left to stew in her own… juices.

Witness the grandiose Tea Party plan to storm the Capitol and presumably frighten our elected representatives into killing health care reform. Teabaggers got some attention last August by going around yelling at people at town hall meetings, but that didn’t prove to be a successful way of derailing health care reform. Since then they’ve been out of the spotlight. But now, thanks to the New Sarah Palin, they’re coming back to grab fifteen more minutes of fame. I’m sure they’ll get it too, much like Balloon Boy.

The thing is, that’s their whole plan: get attention. The have no real agenda other than earning media coverage. They hope that will translate into a popular uprising against the Democrats, but they don’t really know how. It’s a bit like appearing on a reality TV show in hopes of winning an Oscar. It sort of seems possible, but the actual sequence of  events necessary to make it happen is blurry.

Never mind! Take a whizz on the floor and the rest will follow!

Look, let’s be honest here: there’s no way in hell I’m writing a novel this month. Work and other things will be driving me to distraction as usual in November. It’s my busiest time of year and the busiest year I’ve seen since I started my current job. When I’m not working, I’ll probably be either trying to make some extra cash with side projects or diving into some escapist reading.

But I appreciate the idea of National Novel Writing Month, while utterly rejecting the possibility of my own participation. And to those brave souls who are giving it a go, especially the one I know personally, I wish you the very best of luck. In solidarity, I personally pledge to write an entire blog post over the month of November.

And here it is. Bright, shiny and squeaking in at just under 150 words. I might even do two!

Rockefeller Center by a Rainy Night by syvwich, used under a Creative Commons License

And when it comes down, will we all be swallowed in a blue-violet mist, praying to celebrity entertainers to carry us up to their high towers? Or will they go first, engulfed by an inverted deluge welling down from the sky? Will our arks be subway trains burrowing below the flood? Will parched rats scramble off looking for olive pits to bring back to show us the way to the sanctuary of RRT?

What covenant can we make in the stinking shell of Union Station? And who will be there to make it?

I wanted to write something about the demonstration in DC today that said something a little more useful than “Wow, these people are dumbasses.” I think it was going to argue that the folks who showed up at today’s event had some legitimate concerns about government intrusion into the private affairs of citizens. Or maybe I was going to say that they had simply been led astray by right-wing commentators like Glenn Beck without understanding that he’s a shill for rich corporate interests disguising himself as a populist.

Then I ran across this.

And really, despite my very best intentions, all I can think of to say is:

Wow. These people are unbelievable dumbasses.

Image by erin m, used under a Creative Commons License

Raining night, pavement… by Oimax, used under a Creative Commons License

… and when you get home, you have a coffee or a whiskey, maybe a cigarette. You put on some slow. soulful tunes and open the window so the music and the rain can harmonize.

It’s cold, and soon to be colder, but right now the water dripping down the back of your neck is just the right temperature to give you a cool shudder of pleasure. This is the kind of night that teaches you the value of being exposed, just a little.