The dog and I had to drag the G’s carcass out of bed this morning so she could vote and perform her sole civic duty of the year. (Mine too) I have to admit that I’m going to miss this year’s political season as it has been ever so intrusive. It felt like I had made two new, super-clingy friends. Ones that would send me things in the mail every day and call during dinner and 50 times on the weekends. And then, if they felt I was losing interest in our relationship, they would get their friends like George Allen and Mark Warner to call and remind me how great they are.
Being a responsible citizen, I did some research before I threw my vote away and spent ten minutes on the internets before going to the community center. But I wasn’t able to get anywhere deeper than judging them on their superficial characteristics. Again, it’s like having two new friends.
Kaine’s eyebrow’s + Kilgore’s drawl + our dog + bow tie = endearing childhood memory
So, no matter who wins, our commonwealth’s highest official will now be known as Governor Huckleberry in the Pyggy household.
As for Mr. 4%, Russ Potts, I’d pictured him looking like the guy who ran the rival airline counter on Wings but was disappointed to see he looks just like your normal southern VA politician. Though, having him in the race has been helpful. Kilgore’s people called a few weeks and asked if I would be interested in canvassing in my neighborhood. Unwilling to give up any valuable lying-on-the-floor-listening-to-ipod time, I politely declined. But the guy had a script and kept pressing until I volunteered I was a Potts Man to the core. He got huffy, hung up and let me go back to my floor.
Also, the Post’s Kilgore profile last week offered one of those unexpected yet ordinary details about someone, like when you find out a college friend has an identical twin. In this case, it was that Jerry Kilgore has an identical twin. My initial reaction upon seeing Terry Kilgore’s picture was, “So how did they decide which brother gets the mustache?”, especially since I was under the incorrect assumption that the boys were the sons of country music songwriting legend Merle Kilgore and his fabulous 'stache. (They're not. I knew ol’ Merle wouldn’t have named his twins Jerry and Terry.) But then I found this old photo of Jerry.
Maybe the Brothers Kilgore flipped a coin because it looks like the bare upper lip for Jerry is a new development. The image consultant who shaved that off should get a cushy political appointment if he wins wins, like Ambassador to Foxfields.