Somewhat vague, to be sure, but the funny thing is that we want vague. And the good news is that with Dubya we'll be getting Texas vague, "Big Time" vague, nouvelle vague. We're confused anyway (see last week's column) and don't want to be defined by our presidential choice. Some people think this is a bad thing. "Why aren't politics passionate the way they used to be?" they ask. But, see, that's not really what we want. We want our fog, our smoke and mirrors –– leave us alone! We're tired of being the watchdogs of the world, a democratic standard of fairness. We want to be more like, say, Luxemburg—a country that nobody notices, a place where you go to change money or buy duty-free cognac. We're too big, that's our problem—hide us!

That, folks, is the only explanation for Dubya that I can think of. He promises to shrink us like hemorrhoids, to make it seem like we just elected a new head of our fraternity, Bubya Fie Betcha Kappa, instead of the leader of the free world, goddamnit. And at this point, when we still want to live in the little house on the prairie or some sit-com living room, vague is good. Just repeat it a few times. VAGUE IS GOOD! VAGUE IS GOOD! Now, don't you feel better? I know I do.

All we've got to do is admit it. We're an adolescent country, and we've never really gotten over driving our parents crazy (George III). And the thing is, you can't attack vague. Clarence Thomas said he had not made up his mind if he was pro-choice or pro-life. Told us he had never discussed abortion with anyone, not even his wife. Vague. Remember that next time you're trying to get confirmed to this or that cabinet post or perhaps the federal bench.

Dubya knows this. He can't even remember whom he executed last week, darn it! With Dubya, it isn't just fuzzy math, everything's fuzzy. He's the Furby candidate, soft and squishy. You don't quite know what it's for, but you don't want to throw it out, either. (On the other hand, were we to elect Gore, he might actually want to do something. That's a different kind of dangerous.)

And, really, what's so bad about a president who won't know what the hell is going on? We've had a few of them, you know. There was Herbert Hoover. When his death was reported to Alice Longworth Roosevelt she said, "How could you tell?" Then there was Eisenhower, who played golf and uttered Chauncey Gardner-type platitudes about the desert of ideas blooming with the compost of yesterday. And there was Reagan, of course, who just watched re-runs and left the running of the country to the clerical staff. Like both Bushes, he liked his reports delivered orally (I could make a joke about Clinton here, but I'll resist).

Here's the thing: folks (Republicans) now say Reagan was a great President, but don't ask them "In what friggin' way, Bud?" 'cause they won't be able to tell you. At least he didn't bother us too much or make us really face up to any of our problems or even ask us what we could do for our country—he just ran up the national debt to the highest it's ever been and then let that patsy George Bush (George I) take the fall.

Then there's my personal favorite in the slacker President department, Gerald Ford. Ford was so vague we can't even remember his presidency at all. It's like we've completely blanked on the whole thing. Gerald Ford was the Mother of all Vagueness. He was so vague we can't even remember what he was doing instead of being President, except maybe falling down. Ike, we know, was out on the putting green, Ronald was snuggling with Nancy, but Ford? Maybe he went into some sort of hibernation state.

Maybe it's all for the best. Watch what you wish for and that sort of thing. That's what I tell myself, anyway. And don't go counting on the younguns. You used to be able to count on the youth vote-if the irresponsible little brats only would (vote, that is). Now I'm not so sure, especially after listening to a story on NPR about the youth voter drive in Oregon.

Do they want change, progress, more liberal views? No, in thunder! They want—guess what they want?—they want the opposite of whatever their baby-boomer parents want. They're against abortion, for school vouchers, they want more discipline in school, they want school uniforms, fer chrissakes. You remember the Hitler Youth? The Red Guard? Well, my middle-aged friends, it's ten o'clock—do you know where your children are?

Remind me again what we're for—whatever it is, they're against it. You only have to look at that smug little smart-ass Tucker Carlson in his prissy, repressive bow tie trouncing his dear old mom on CNN to see what these brats want.

The little fascists! Probably doing it just to spite us, too. Have they forgotten all the dirty diapers we changed? All the times we sat up with them when they had a fever? All the times we sang them songs about blowin' in the goddamn wind?