Priscilla Jones's blog
The so-called California Cancer Research Act up for a vote is a misnomer. According to the measure, funds collected from California taxpayers are allowed to be spent researching elsewhere, including other countries. In an already bankrupt state, the $735 million projected to be raised yearly by this new tax will not help balance the budget or do a thing to pay down the $10 billion deficit.
Now that the GOP primary battle is down to the two-man race Ron Paul initially predicted, it is time to get to know our opponent. Who is Mitt Romney? The answers cannot be found in what he says, for his words change with the wind and his promises are never set in stone. His record and statements flip and flop around more than the large-mouthed bass I accidentally caught while practicing casting techniques. Who is Mitt Romney deep down inside? A simple peek at his face hints at the answers.
We live in a world where it is no longer enough to be Mr. Universe, then the wealthiest actor in Hollywood, then married to a hot news anchor from the premiere American political dynasty family. To be truly satisfied, apparently, one must knock a knowledgable accountant out of a big race to fix your state's budget crisis, then sit on the Governor's throne, and then boink the maid. For the record, "Conan the Republican" left the California governatorship as a card-carrying liberal. I warned my friends working for his 2003 Total Recall campaign to not come crying to me when he sells them down the river. They came crying to me anyway. Every dark cloud has a silver lining, though; the accountant who lost the state race to Arnold is now Congressman McClintock and Mr. Universe is back in the entertainment business.
At the risk of stating the obvious, it is common knowledge that few people are in politics for something other than just gaining the weight of power. Let’s be honest. Wait. Nevermind. This is politics.
In the embarrassingly obese city we call our capital, both Republicans and Democrats spend their every effort to gain power. And cake. There is no measurable difference in their foreign policy. We are just as despised as the world’s policemen with Obama as we were under Bush. Nothing changes regarding the political machine’s overseas “adventurism”—otherwise known as meddling.
Benjamin Franklin famously penned, “He that lies down with dogs shall rise up with fleas.” A former obstetrician expounded upon Franklin’s sentiment regarding bad company corrupting good character, and gave it a modern edge. “When one gets in bed with government, one must expect the diseases it spreads,” wrote Congressman Ron Paul.
Who are the presidential candidates in bed with now? Judging from donations alone, Ron Paul draws the eternal devotion of the entire US Army, the US Air Force, the US Navy, and sensible folks at Google. In stark contrast, Mitt Romney’s moneyed mistresses max out to him at Goldman Sachs, JP Morgan Chase, Morgan Stanley, and Citigroup. Rick Santorum appears to be the worst lover of them all. No one of any consequence has jumped into Santorum’s sex-is-for-procreation bed, offering to give him big donors—unless you count Universal Health Services. In fact, Santorum has barely surpassed Jon Huntsman’s fundraising totals, and Huntsman went broke months ago. Even Newt Gingrich is out-fundraising Santorum nearly three-to-one. That’s to be expected for Gingrich; good times seem to come in threes for the former Speaker.
A few weeks ago, my 85-year-old grandmother said she and grandpa were disgusted with the field of Republican presidential candidates, but they were considering casting their not-Obama votes for Santorum due to his religious beliefs. Shocked, I asked what their objections were to Ron Paul and she said, “Well, he dropped out! We don’t hear anything about him on the news!”
Conservative Republican values—I remember them well from my rural, independently-minded Idaho upbringing: limited government, personal liberty and responsibility, fiscal restraint, and respect for human life, right? As proof of my dyed-in-the-wool Republican childhood, Reagan’s portrait had such a prominent place on my family’s mantle I always assumed he was one of our uncles. When George W. Bush changed his address to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, I was squarely in the middle of a growing young voter demographic. That’s when I got to know the heavy-hitting Grand Old Republicans in the behemoth states of California and Texas.
It has since taken me a decade to realize that the GOP is run by three types of people: busy-bodied heifers who dominate others through gossip and intimidation, their emasculated sidekicks who meekly fall in line, and shrewd business people who have figured out how to game the system for personal profit, prestige or, if they’re exceptionally shrewd, both.