Body Politic

We have a major controversy here in our beach town. The powers with money want to install an LNG terminal in our harbor. A pol with inside knowledge says that President Bush wants it done, so therefore it will be done. But in the meantime the residents are frightened of having a natural gas terminal in their backyard (so to speak) and are fighting the City Council with everything that is available. And one of the things available is the union that works in the harbor.

My son is a minor pol in his own right. He is a Union Steward. Therefore, he got the telephone call that union representatives were being rallied to attend the City Council meeting.

I have to digress for a minute here. I live with a former political journalist and a son that is very vocal in his political beliefs and ideals. The two of them delight in yammering and pontificating on the state of the union, the state, the city, and/or the household. These two can throw the words and ideas around for hours, and for the most part agree with one another.

Me? I stay very quiet. Neither one of them knows for certain who I voted for or why. Except when I’m adamantly opposed to something I keep my own council. Why? Because these two loud mouth political opinionists deliberately try to swirl me into a debate, even if they agree with me. I love holding my opinion close and watching them trying to trick me into saying what and where I stand. It drives them crazy and I have the last laugh. Hey, I don’t get the last laugh too often in this house. I have to take em where I can get em.

So, the telephone call comes that my son has to attend the Council meeting. This fits in perfectly with John’s frame of mind. He loves watching the City Council meetings. It brings back beloved memories of his first days as a reporter. I mean the man can actually sit there for hours and watch the mayor and the populace argue about something as small as changing the name of a street.

My son put on his City Council meeting clothes and John sits with the channel changer in his hand. The two are in sync. They have their mojo flowing. They’re going for it!

The son gets in the car and waves and John’s political finger pushes the TV ON button.

The discussion and arguments went on for hours. John was glassy eyed with a political reporters enthusiasm. I haven’t seen him that happy in months.

My son walked in the house at 11:00 p.m. The meeting was still booming from the TV. He walked right over to the BIG TV and turned it on. Now he and John could watch the proceedings and discuss my son’s part in them at the same time. Life couldn’t have been better. When I looked confused he explained that the meeting was probably going to go on until mid-night and he had to get up at 4:00 a.m.

I was still confused. Didn’t he come home to go to bed? Why did he turn the TV on? Why did John move in front of the big TV with him? These two must have really, really been caught up in this issue. I was almost proud of them, until ...

“There, there she is John. Isn’t she hot? I got her phone number. All the guys were jealous as hell.”

“Man, that is a sexy woman. And she likes politics too. Good job!”

My son attended a debate of the Body Politic ... and came home with the phone number of a Political Body.

Could that be called “Sexual Politics”?