Super Tuesday was, according to one radio commentator, "the Super Bowl of politics." Now that we’ve crested the mountaintop, transcended race, trounced gender stereotypes and broken through the old glass ceiling, I guess there’s nothing left to do. Yawn. What’s left to dream, after all? Time for a nap.
Dream No. 1: The doctrine of pre-emptive war is tackled by the doctrine of pre-emptive peace. Pandora appears out of nowhere, but she’s all over the gridiron. She blocks the evil twins, Torture and Guantánamo–she’s got them by the legs! She head- butts them back into the box! And the crowd goes wild.
Dream No. 2: Barack Obama is extolling the love, fortitude and courage of the woman who raised him "as a single mother." At first, the crowd imagines he’s said "black single mother." There is a pause, then a quick reconfiguration. Oh, yeah, his single mother was white. It startles. As the throngs look at one another in wonder, they begin to see Lebanese-American single mothers and Taiwanese-American single mothers and Irish-American single mothers. They see that black single mothers–even the ones on welfare!–have a lot in common with all kinds of other mothers. Working mothers of all stripes are magically gilded with halos around their heads, illuminated as those who perform the hardest juggling acts, whose devotion is tested every minute of every day and who still don’t earn but seventy cents for every dollar a man earns. Close-up of awe-struck faces as this realization hits a broad swath of the population. Voters decide not enough is trickling down from Enron and the oil companies. They join to revise the distribution of tax benefits; they join unions; they lobby for quality daycare. Eyes spill tears of appreciation and contrition. All boats start to rise.
Dream No. 3: Bill Clinton’s hospital bill for coronary bypass surgery is accidentally sent to Gill Clinton of 96 Rocky Road, Red State, USA. Gill Clinton’s insurance company has refused to pay, and before he realizes that it’s a case of mistaken identity, Gill takes a look at the sum and his heart skips more than a few beats. When he revives, he begins to wonder what on earth he would have done if his moment of hyperventilation had been a real heart attack. He Googles the British and French healthcare systems to find out how much such an operation would cost there. Suddenly he doesn’t care whether "Hillarycare" is "socialism": he wants to know the specifics. He takes a look at each candidate’s proposals. He begins to fear Mexicans crossing into the United States less than what might happen if Canada were to stop US citizens from slipping over the border in search of low-cost prescription meds. He decides to sneak in a little cardiovascular exercise by canvassing the neighborhood on behalf of universal coverage.