Shoes You Can Believe In!

In between all the writing and re-writing of books and television pitching, the past week has been a flurry of Obama fundraisers. It seems me and you and everyone we know is throwing one. It’s been really fun seeing old friends and donating to all of their causes which all go to the same place. Mr. David Plouffe – I hear you! Everytime I get one of those e-mails from the Obama camp asking for as little as $5, my heart breaks a little and of course I donate. I mean, hello! It’s five bucks! You could have a latte a day or help get the President of Awesome elected.

I have not been blogging about politics because it’s a tricky thing to write about, politics is yucky and divisive and ruins dinner parties—always resulting in two seething sides thinking the other are complete and utter idiots. And this is a shopping diary after all. But then maybe I’m over-thinking it. Maybe this presidential election is just like shoe shopping. Like, would you buy a pair of old Ferragamos that are crusted and make your feet hurt so much they make you SO cranky which are paired with a pair of knockoff go-go boots that wouldn’t allow you read the books you want to read? The Shoe-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? I mean, shades of Dolores Umbridge, hello!

Or would you buy the shoes that you can BELIEVE IN!

Obama ‘08! Vote for six-inch crocodile-stamp YSL platforms! Because if Obama were a shoe, he would be an aerodynamic sleek, trim, Prada Sport loafer. But with the soul of the YSL pump—they’re so high they reach towards heaven! They lift you up in a spirit of change my wardrobe! Okay. I know. The metaphors are starting to fail me. And if Biden were a shoe I think he would be like one of those comfy Clark Wallabes they like so much back East.

But seriously. I know I can sound like a dumb fashion person. But why are people who like fashion automatically dumb? Is it because the unfashionable are scared that the fashionable are secretly judging them and deeming their wash-and-wear wardrobe inferior? Well yes, we are, but so what. SNARF! Anyway, I am making light of this because I do find screechy lecture-y political blogs to be off-putting from both sides. But this is a very important election, and it’s not a time to be cynical or indifferent or too-cool-for-school. Put that ironic hipster posture away.

I came from a country (god, don’t you hate when immigrants say that? It’s so cringe-worthy sometimes) but here goes—I came from a country that threw out our dictator by gathering in the streets, one by one, sent via text to cellphones, to meet and rally and stand up for change and be counted. My family moved here because America, as flawed as she is, is the last and best hope for the world. This is like the Luke Skywalker of countries, you know. Luke: he’s a bit brash, doesn’t think things through, but he has a good heart. This is all we got. You know what I like most about Americans? Idealism. Can-do-it-ness. The Hollywood blockbuster. This is the land of happy endings. And the land that created New York. A crazy cosmopolitan city where it really doesn’t matter where you’re from, because I came from nowhere, and I was able to be somebody in New York. The land that created Barack Obama is a pretty awesome place to be from, I think.

Anyway. I know. Leaning towards sentimental earnestness here.

And all that being said, some of the closest people in my life are Republicans. Like my mom. But we are able to love each other and disagree. Mike’s parents are Republicans too (or as I like to call them “the enemy”—Republicans – not my in-laws—until I remember my mom is one.) My mom is not the enemy. She is my mom and momsome. You know how some moms are just okay at being moms? Well, my mom is an awesome mom. Momsome. I remember in college, people were jealous of me because of my mom. My mom is stylish AND can cook. As Randy Pausch said, I won the parent lottery. My parents are awesome. So how can I hate Republicans—my mom is a Republican. Sigh.

And I was happily reading Jen Lancaster’s books until she came out as a Republican. I STRUGGLED with that one, my friends. How can this funny, gay-friendly gal be a red-state chick? Did I want to keep reading?? Or did I want to throw her book across the room?? And then I realized I was being RIDICULOUS. Everyone has a right to their opinion, and their vote, and Jen Lancaster is not the enemy either. And yes, I still like her books and I even read her blog. So that makes two Republicans who are not the enemy. Which means maybe Republicans are not the enemy? Maybe we’re just a big, sprawling country with dozens and dozens of differing opinions, which during election season is boiled down to only two choices, and well, you gotta choose one. And as Jen says, underneath it all, don’t we all like Sex and the City? So: Repubicans: Not the enemy. Sex and the City hatahs, however: I’ve got my eye on you.

So while I am still a card-carrying, bleeding heart, SUV limousine liberal (although I still pause before putting the Obama 08 sticker on the back of the Mercedes. I mean, I don’t want to be that big a tool. Although I have outfitted the kid in Authors for Obamawear), I am not as bad as I used to be. These days, I don’t change seats at weddings when I find out the people next to me voted for the Decider. In fact, one of my very dear friends, to whom Revelations is dedicated, is a Republican. She and her husband (who is also a wonderful person) met while they were both working in the Bush pere campaign. I take our friendship to mean I am, indeed, an open-minded person. Hmmm. Or maybe just my sister is, because she met them first. Ha!

In this election, I think what matters most is that everyone is entitled to their own opinion and their own vote, so even if my mom gets hazed at the dinner table by her family of Democrats (my dad and mom are the Filipino James Carville and Mary Matalin), she has to suck it up, and we have to suck it up that we can’t change her mind either.

As Ali G. says, Res-pek!

And that’s it for me. I just got another email from Mr. Plouffe and have to dig out my trusty Mastercard. Is it Plooo-fay? Or is it Plooofff? Either way I kind of dig it.