Y'all saw this here first:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=show_topic&forum=132&topic_id=1023573===
http://www.truthout.org/docs_04/101204L.shtmlDebating the Debate in the Woods of Maine By Dave Joyce
t r u t h o u t | Letter
Tuesday 13 October 2004
I had to run a few errands this fine fall Saturday morning, so I headed downtown to do my shopping and grab a cup of "real" coffee (non-decaf - the wife is real strong against coffee for health reasons) for my troubles. Now understand that I live on the outskirts of a small town in the Great North Woods of Maine. It's a paper mill town, with a single mill and a big union membership, but the town is heavily Bible Belt-like Republican. In fact the main drag into town from the south is so dotted with various churches that its nickname is "The Highway to Heaven."
Up here, voting results tend towards the GOP, but Dems do get their share of votes and in fact have helped several local D's into office. But when it comes to Presidential elections, the R usually wins. In 2000 it was close, but Bush did come out on top.
It's a 5 mile trip to town and along the way I noticed that along with the brightly colored leaves dotting folks' lawns was a profusion of equally brightly colored campaign signs, 90% of which were for local GOP candidates. Oh, there were a few Dems signs, but the GOP ones dominated, and what made it even more interesting was the absolute paucity of "Bush 04" signs. In fact, the highest level office GOP sign I saw, outside of that one "Bush 04" sign, was for the State Senate election. Lawns with several signs for local GOP candidates were just about all missing any for the top of the ticket.
I arrived in town, did my shopping, and then zipped over to the local caffeine watering hole. You have to know about this place - it's a true truck stop café, where the coffee is cheap and plentiful, the food greasy but well done and served in large portions. You enter the front door and are confronted with a large room, the bar and grill directly ahead, booths placed along the walls, with sets of chairs and four-person tables taking up most of the rest of this large room. Within in the center portion of that mass of four-person tables and chairs is one table that seats about ten or so.
As with most establishments of this type, there are patterns and waves of customers that come and go with the cycle of life in a small town in the woods. Depending on the time of day, day of the week, and month of the year, various members of the community will pass through its doors at one time or another. Customers will sit in the booths, at the bar and grill, and even at the tables, but the big table, nope, the big table is reserved for the "Regulars."
(snip)
First words out of John's mouth were, "Don't say an effing thing about the debate, I don't think Bert can take it." I looked over at Bert. If any man fit the description of hung over, it was Bert. There might have been some white in his eyes, but I would have been hard pressed to find it - a brighter shade of pink I'd never seen. His face had that washed out look; the grey stubble on his cheeks had more color than the tone of his skin. The bags under his eyes could have handled a football team's luggage and had room left over for the cheerleading squad's too.
His hands were wrapped around the mug, and with his head hung down like that it looked like he was contemplating diving in, rather than drinking the coffee. He did raise his head long enough to utter, "God damn Rod and that god damn scotch of his."
"Oh, rough night, eh, Bert?" I said with slight smile. As much as I don't hold feelings against Bert for our political combat, there was a certain satisfaction knowing, because of my chat with April and the clue that John had given me when I sat down, that the real reason for Bert's discomfort was not as much the booze as the debate.
"You see that thing?" he said, sipping his java and wincing at the heat.
"Yup, interesting debate, you think?"
"God damn Bush blew it," he said, and then took a good healthy swig. Swallowing hard he continued, "Sounded like a little kid pleading for another friggin' cookie, for Christ's sake!"
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