When it comes to politics, I'm like a bear wading out into a mighty river in search of salmon. Generally, I avoid the turbulent depths of the political news cycle, but every now and again I wander out in search of nourishment and attempt to snag some understanding of current affairs.
Unfortunately, I don't really like the taste of salmon, nor do I have much patience for politics. I'm told both are acquired tastes, and while I have no intention of acquiring any taste for fish, I don't mind picking up politics. Which is why, on Tuesday night, I was dead set on watching President Bush's State of the Union address.
Somehow, I've thus far managed to miss the previous six addresses. The excuses vary. Everything from high school basketball practice to being out of the country kept me from my civic duty. But I was dead set on changing that trend this year.
As the frenzied buildup to the president's address kicked into the fever pitch one normally associates with an hour-long, televised speech—incidentally about half the frenzy of the American Idol premiere—I set about preparing for the big event.
I devoured article after article in an attempt to fully understand the subject matter. One story said this would be the ""most irrelevant"" address of the president's tenure. Others made it seem like the embattled president was walking into a Democratic lion's den, where his opposition was waiting to pounce—or at the very least not applaud after every sixth word.
Once I had my background information sufficiently grasped, I cleared my schedule for the evening. Seeing as my schedule was already empty, this was much easier than I'd anticipated. Then my phone rang.
It was my good friend Molly, who informed me that she was hosting a ""Taco Tuesday"" event at her apartment. All of a sudden, I had a decision to make. CNN had already started its pre-address coverage. The speech was mere hours away. I went to eat tacos anyway.
Not surprisingly, I got wrapped up in the aromas of Molly's kitchen and before I knew it, it was 7:45 p.m. I had to get home. But en route to my house, I was drawn off track again, this time to my girlfriend's apartment. When I arrived I asked if she wanted to watch the address. ""I have a ton of reading already,"" she said. I looked at the time. Somehow it was already 10 past eight. I'd already missed the start. Quickly, I excused myself from her apartment and sprinted home.
Just as I walked in and settled down though, my phone rang again. This time it was my mom. Inexplicably, I spent the next half hour on the phone, watching the muted address as I chatted.
Suddenly, from some dark corner of my apartment I heard a yell. ""HE'S TALKING ABOUT DIKEMBE MUTOMBO!"" Could it really be? Was that really the finger-wagging, hospital-building NBA legend sitting next to the first lady as a guest of honor? I thought VH1 had a monopoly on washed-up celebrities with hilarious physical dimensions, but the president proved me wrong.
By the time I pulled myself off the ground and the laughter in my apartment died down, the speech was over, and I'd missed most of it. Rather than the information I'd originally sought, I was left with an upset tummy (too many tacos) and a renewed appreciation of Dikembe Mutombo's height. That's fine though. Like I said, I don't like fish—or was it politics?—anyway.
