G.O.P Are In My Kitchen

I insisted that we have a call.  If we don’t have a regular call, we’ll spin out and not keep consistency.  “Every company I’ve ever been in has a weekly call.”  This is something we must do.  OK.  OK.  So, we shall.   Tomorrow.  At 8:00AM. 

Yeah.  Made that point.  Then, I consider.  Every other week I have my wife fill in for me when this 8:00AM Thursday call is on the calendar.  But she’s on-the-road.  I’ll be taking the kids to school at that time tomorrow, all by myself.  They need to be there at 8:00AM.  This isn’t going to work well.  

“Hey ladies, let’s chat.  Tomorrow we need to leave right on time.  Not later than 7:40AM.  “I need money for my lunch card!”  “SO DO I.”  “Right.  OK.  Then we need to leave earlier.  No later than 7:30AM.  Is that understood?”  

There is a first frost outside, the next morning.  We have a late departure and a late arrival.  I sped home quicker than I should and darted through the door.  Flip open the computer, find my headset, make sure I’m on line.   “Hi all.  Sorry to be late."

Some time later, after a second, and then a third, and of course a fourth follow-up call, I check emails and as always, the New York Times.  If nothing else, one must make sure the world is still in one piece.  Oh, and there you go . . . the third Republican debates are on, right about now.  I hadn’t realized.  Hmm.  They’re half over. 

Youtube has the debates available in a five part series and now the G.O.P. are in my kitchen.  And it’s the lot of them against the CNBC amateur team, for the most part.  Repeated repudiations of the “mainstream liberal media.”  Reporters looking ruffled.  Carson wafts about.  Trump seems oddly congenial with everyone except Kasich and is denied his electric hate-fuel.  Jeb is the person I’d probably least dislike talking to, but he’s utterly buried.  Cruz is smart, smarmy, repulsive.  Marco, as many will note, seemed crisp.  But I’m underwhelmed by the depth of his poise.  It’s all a bit too studied.  He’s the alpha-lad and yet he seems to be holding on, just barely. 

I do not watch television.  But when the debates are on, I convince myself that I must view these people.   I’m obliged to participate in the main event.  And I note  my reactions to this spontaneous theatre.  Where do I see weakness, fallibility, courage or clarity?  Could I do better?  How can one open oneself to such a daunting glare?