Send Their Battered Dreams To Heaven

The Cool, Cool River

Moves like a fist through the traffic
Anger and no one can heal it
Shoves a little bump into the momentum
It’s just a little lump
But you feel it
In the creases and the shadows
With a rattling deep emotion
The cool, cool river
Sweeps the wild, white ocean

Yes boss. the government handshake
Yes boss. the crusher of language
Yes boss. mr. stillwater,
The face at the edge of the banquet
The cool, the cool river
The cool, the cool river

I believe in the future
I may live in my car
My radio tuned to
The voice of a star
Song dogs barking at the break of dawn
Lightning pushes the edge of a thunderstorm
And these old hopes and fears
Still at my side

Anger and no one can heal it
Slides through the metal detector
Lives like a mole in a motel
A slide in a slide projector
The cool, cool river
Sweeps the wild, white ocean
The rage of love turns inward
To prayers of devotion
And these prayers are
The constant road across the wilderness
These prayers are
These prayers are the memory of god
The memory of god

And I believe in the future
We shall suffer no more
Maybe not in my lifetime
But in yours I feel sure
Song dogs barking at the break of dawn
Lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm
And these streets
Quiet as a sleeping army
Send their battered dreams to heaven, to heaven
For the mothers restless son
Who is a witness to, who is a warrior
Who denies his urge to break and run

Who says: hard times?
I’m used to them
The speeding planet burns
I’m used to that
My life’s so common it disappears
And sometimes even music
Cannot substitute for tears

We are out of time to equivocate.

Please register and vote your conscience.

Nothing To Do Today But Smile

Johnny, whose co-workers call him Bobby Boucher, takes his charisma to the bank, baby:

Bidness, bidness, bidness. I sold a Tribeca today to one of the principals of a European solar energy firm expanding into the US. It’s my first bidness to bidness, uh, bidness. I let him Christian me down as far as he wanted to on the price. I think my commission per se was a hundred twenty five dollars. However, my client, being European, didn’t know that in Santa Fe you drive an Outback or you drive a Forester, unless you drive an Outback or perhaps a Forester. You don’t under any circumstances drive a Tribeca. That in mind, management placed a bonus on every one of those bad boys. One thousand dollars cash to The Waterboy. Because that’s what I do.

Johnny and I have known one another since the summer of 1977, when when I was fourteen and we were both in love with him. For those of you just joining Poor Impulse Control: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, and possibly the most interesting Johnny. Here’s the one that brought us hate mail in 2005: Johnny. Yesterday:

After what, a year, finally the gigs are coming out of the woodwork. I play with an old-timey country trio on Sunday night, which with me I guess would be a quatro, then I have to get to work learning two albums’ worth of tunes for some gigs with an accordion player who sings in English and French about the glories of Paris and the joys of homosexual love. He’s putting the gay in gay Paree, and yes, that is one of his song titles.

Amendment XVIII
Section 1. After one year from the ratification of this article the manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors within, the importation thereof into, or the exportation thereof from the United States and all territory subject to the jurisdiction thereof for beverage purposes is hereby prohibited.

Section 2. The Congress and the several states shall have concurrent power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Section 3. This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of the several states, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the states by the Congress.

I’ll drink to that! And speaking of time-wasting:

A Cool, Dry Place is a sappy little piece of trash starring Vince Vaughn. Both of our minds were so destroyed by commerce that we sat last night and watched it straight through without even groaning. Remember in Beavis and Butthead, when they would flash back to B&B’s aghast faces in the middle of some horrifying video clip? You get the picture. If Vince wants to sue somebody, he should sue the agent who convinced him to take this awful role. I hope he at least fucked the luscious little piece of cornfed cheesecake who played his romantic interest. That would help even the score.

We scoped chicks together up and down the East Coast, and sometimes we scoped boys. It depended on who and what we were doing that season. Judging by IMDB, and without reading more than a few words about Vince was and wasn’t doing, I guess the cornfed cheesecake Johnny’s referring to is Monica Potter. I bet she’d appreciate our Constitutional spotlight dance.

Amendment XIX
The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex.

Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

I’m just curious. Maybe someone knows this: why do some amendments have these little post-its tacked on, hinting Congress is IT in this game of tag?

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I Close My Eyes And I See

Gorgeous blurry pictures of blue things that upon closer examination turn out to be Chuan and his friend at Evil Dead: the Musical.

Chuan propped himself against a filing cabinet in my cubicle and explained the new addition to his wardrobe: a cheap plastic poncho. He described gooey stage blood flying everywhere, drenched audience members, a song and dance number called What the Fuck Is That? I asked if, by any tiny, tiny chance, there were camera phone photos of this excellent mayhem?

Oh yes. An usher came running to scold them, but blue plastic history was made. Chuan said the play was an absolute panic, and everyone non-water-soluble should see it in clothing they don’t mind subsequently dyeing red in someone else’s washing machines.

I suspect a Crayola 64 box of Tide pens would solve the problem.

Friday Cat Blogging: The Stars Are Falling Edition

Last night, I got home from the family store just before 9:30, which is to say that every month or two months, the town holds an event on the street for a few hours. Children run through the store filled with lovely breakable objects until 9. My sisters and their partners in the toy store go all out. Last night, they put up a super cool yoga tent and blinky lights, and bluegrass musicians sang right outside the door. We knew all the songs because we grew up with a bluegrass band rehearsing in the rec room. Also: my 14-year-old niece Lois was singing two blocks down the street with her church group. I encouraged her.

Tata: So, ya nervous?
Lois: I wasn’t.
Tata: Don’t worry. No one will notice you. You’ll be fine. Unless you puke.
Lois: You’re making me nervous!
Tata: I didn’t have really bad stage fright until I was in my thirties except when I was in gymnastics. That was really bad. Woo! But I could dance anywhere, that was fine. Later, I found tequila. Hey, you want some?
Lois: I’m leaving now!
Tata: Don’t suck, sweetie!

An hour later, Lois returned. My sister and I were supportive aunties.

Tata: Hey, sweetie! Did you choke?
Lois: What?
Tata: Did you choke or did you sing like the birdies?
Anya: Yeah yeah, thrill of victory or agony of defeat?
Lois: It went great.
Tata: You’re not sure? Did you hork?
Lois: I didn’t! And my brother suddenly appeared.
Anya: Tippecanoe “suddenly appeared”?
Lois: With Dad. Poof! There he was.
Tata: If we’re distributing magical powers, I’d like to levitate, please.
Lois: Please do. We have ceiling fans.

Isn’t she FANTASTIC? Daughters in my family deliver the cutting one-liners. Miss Sasha is also an expert with ten words or less. The girls, they’re brainy and beautiful. And speaking of beautiful, this is Lili, kitty friend of Mr. blogenfreude.

Though I’ve never met Lili in the feline flesh, she talks to me on the phone as if we backpacked across Europe together. While PIC was broken, Mr. blogenfreude was kind enough to let me blither at AgitProp and too kind to observe that while he and I are concerned with many of the same developments in the news, his readers are accustomed to a certain incisive brevity I can’t mimic – not without tequila, anyway.

Tata: Lili?
Lili: MEW!
Tata: Really? Ashcroft’s appearance on the Daily Show was a disaster! For whom? I sure don’t know.
Lili: MEW!
Tata: I don’t see how that’ll help book sales.
Lili: MEW!
Tata: Thanks. I wasn’t sure I could wear the new, fashionable cocoas. But you’ve set me straight!

Her views on physics are equally startling.

Always In the Arms of Somebody Else

I. Two Sundays ago, I walked through Costco, turned a corner and was shocked speechless. Since I was there alone nobody noticed, but that’s immaterial. On a long rack, dozens of children’s Halloween costumes hung from their hoods. To my eye, it looked like someone had killed and skinned dozens of Poohs, Tiggers and Eeyores. Two aisles later, cat food was extra-cheap.

II. The circle, most circle-like.
Tata: Say it: we have no future together. Say it!
Raymond: No. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I can’t say anything other than what I’ve already said.
Tata: That you pay no attention has me utterly indignant. The one thing of which I can be unshakeably certain is that I am entirely fascinating. So this is your problem, crazy person, and if it goes on much longer we will have adjoining suites at Bellevue.
Raymond: If circumstances were different –
Tata: Nope. I am fascinating. You’re not adoring me properly. We have no future together. Say it!
Raymond: …Yes…
Tata: Fine!
Raymond: But a year from now –

IV. Amendment XVII
The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each state, elected by the people thereof, for six years; and each Senator shall have one vote. The electors in each state shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the state legislatures.

When vacancies happen in the representation of any state in the Senate, the executive authority of such state shall issue writs of election to fill such vacancies: Provided, that the legislature of any state may empower the executive thereof to make temporary appointments until the people fill the vacancies by election as the legislature may direct.

This amendment shall not be so construed as to affect the election or term of any Senator chosen before it becomes valid as part of the Constitution.

IV. I love celery. I often forget this and neglect to buy it for myself, or I buy it for mirepois, which is as good as not buying it at all. This is a sad state of affairs, I think. Celery is subtly salty, crunchy, and when eaten early in its shelf life, has a lovely, distinctive flavor. The leaves are fragrant and when eaten deliver an exciting bite. Like most gentle sensations, like the feel of water pouring from the kitchen faucet onto splayed fingers, like a change in air pressure before a storm, eating celery as a sensual experience can be overlooked or savored. I realized I was denying myself this simple pleasure when my kitchen smelled like cilantro and I was overjoyed.

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You’ve Grown So Tired Of Your Fellow Man

Perhaps you’ve noticed I’m a bit temperamental. You’re not alone, my pet. During one stretch when I regarded the dating scene – don’t bother, I’m already writing myself a stern reprimand for using the words dating and scene consecutively – as less of an dessert bar and more of barbecue pit, my friend Ivan decided to call me KaliTata, Destroyer of Men, which was so endearing! Not familiar with KaliMa? Off to Wikipedia with you, and we’ll wait.

Tap tap tap. Hey! Nice to see you again! I wore that outfit to a party once, only the skirt was ironically Barbie Pink, and let’s put behind us the scrubbing-spirit-gum-off-my-epidermis incident. Ow! Anyway, the Fabulous Ex-Husband(tm) described mine as “the sprint temper” – as in I went from zero to sixty in “DID YOU HEAR WHAT I SAID?” but that was awhile ago. Even a goddess of destruction likes to think she’s matured since the eighties. Here’s your musical interlude.

Amendment XV
Section 1. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.

Section 2. The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

God knows I hate the jazz flute. Yes, time passes and we arrive at yesterday. Stuff this into your socks for safekeeping.

Amendment XVI
The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several states, and without regard to any census or enumeration.

Yesterday, I was trying to move posts I’d written to Running Scared while Poor Impulse Control was dead as a doornail, when Blogger quit publishing. I emailed Siobhan, who does all the heavy lifting here, and blurted out, um, something.

Tata: ^&)@$^*!$^!@^!$%@?
Siobhan: I’ll look.
Tata: ^&)@^%^% thank you.

I had not yet begun to swear. Just after I left work, Siobhan reported back.

Siobhan: I pointed the blah-blah-blah to blah-blah and now I can’t publish anything after October 4th.

This news, when I arrived at home, caused me to hyperventilate. This was no time for rational thinking!

Tata: Puff puff cough puff hack hack wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze!

My first, second and third impulses were exactly the same. I gripped my head. There was screaming. I felt tragic. Only a person who’d just discovered their entire village had been wiped out in an improbable clown car-pile up could know my terrible sorrow. Since Siobhan was working on it, I forced myself to quit screaming and take a nap.

Tata: Zzzzzzwhat about my needszzzzzz…

Siobhan, meanwhile, had a life of her own to lead, which was so inconvenient for Me. This gave me time to think about things. Morgan used to tell me early and often that I was one of those people who felt too much, to which I responded by throwing ashtrays, skillets and knives. Only his excellent reflexes explain his continued good looks, and though he deserved a good beating he was right. That was ten years ago. Yesterday, I paced my living room floor, trying to imagine being able to restrain myself long enough to ask Siobhan questions.

Yeah, I didn’t get far with that.

After seven, I called.

Tata: MMM What do I have to MMMMM do to MMMM get PIC back up and MMMM running tonight?
Siobhan: It’s not? And what the hell is wrong with you?
Tata: Before I say anything else, please know that I appreciate your help with these tasks I cannot do myself, and I am grateful you understand and do these things for me. That’s important.
Siobhan: Yep. Absolutely.
Tata: Good. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY BLOG?

Twenty minutes later, we determined that something might’ve gone wrong at Paulie Gonzalez’ end of this host server moving dealie, and that I would call him. My hair was standing on end. Cartoon steam clouds poured from my ears. My blog was still a wreck and I was still helpless. I called Paulie to throw a weather-changing hissyfit.

Tata: Where are you? What are you doing?
Paulie: I’m at the hospital, picking up my dad.
Tata: What?
Paulie: He’s been here since Wednesday. I’m taking him home. I didn’t tell you?
Tata: No.

Huh. Look, I unexpectedly returned to human form. Small and covered with fur – see? I am not at all coughing up furballs.

Tata: Hack! Hack! Sweetie, call me later, okay?

It’s my work. It’s my identity. It’s just a blog. Thank your favorite deity I’ve fucking matured.

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26 Reds And a Bottle of Wine

If I understand things I read online correctly – stop laughing! – CBGBs is either toast or about to be toast, and Hilly’s taking the place apart brick by brick to reassemble in Vegas. In theory, that is fantastic, and one day I’ll be able to revisit my personal Mecca. By the time I’m ready to be Polyester Edna on permanent Vegas vacation, the mosh pit would be filled with surviving junkies – too mean to die; will be found sunning themselves on rocks after our impending nuclear winter – and tank top-clad, leathery retirees. Don’t break a hip!

Let’s hope no one touches the bathrooms without hazmat suits and the thought of reassembling them in all their indescribably filthy glory occurs to no one outside the Centers for Disease Control. If Scrubbing Bubbles could clean that we’d see a glimmer of hope for the Lincoln Tunnel. Speaking of strange and improbable, this amendment covers more stinking turf than sod on McMansion-infested former farmland.

Amendment XIV
Section 1. All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the state wherein they reside. No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

I like the sound of that, baby! Whether or not the framers intended to, these words assert firmly we are all the same stuff, legally. Now it’s Miller Time! Oh, wait –

Section 2. Representatives shall be apportioned among the several states according to their respective numbers, counting the whole number of persons in each state, excluding Indians not taxed. But when the right to vote at any election for the choice of electors for President and Vice President of the United States, Representatives in Congress, the executive and judicial officers of a state, or the members of the legislature thereof, is denied to any of the male inhabitants of such state, being twenty-one years of age, and citizens of the United States, or in any way abridged, except for participation in rebellion, or other crime, the basis of representation therein shall be reduced in the proportion which the number of such male citizens shall bear to the whole number of male citizens twenty-one years of age in such state.

Crap, I hate it when we get into this fractions of whole people nonsense, let alone counting frat boys for House seats. Moving on, then –

Section 3. No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress, or elector of President and Vice President, or hold any office, civil or military, under the United States, or under any state, who, having previously taken an oath, as a member of Congress, or as an officer of the United States, or as a member of any state legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any state, to support the Constitution of the United States, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof. But Congress may by a vote of two-thirds of each House, remove such disability.

Can’t be elected Dogcatcher after joining an armed insurrection against Dogcatchers. Got it.

Section 4. The validity of the public debt of the United States, authorized by law, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties for services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion, shall not be questioned. But neither the United States nor any state shall assume or pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion against the United States, or any claim for the loss or emancipation of any slave; but all such debts, obligations and claims shall be held illegal and void.

That explains why the Civil War Reconstruction went, um, so well and people speak of it glowingly. Damned Dogcatchers!

Section 5. The Congress shall have power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.

Well, yeah. Otherwise, Congress is like the Mom that says, “You kids! Sit down and eat. Sit down and eat your dinner. Sit down and eat your dinner or tomorrow you’re not having your play dates with you cousins Wednesday and Pugsley. Sit down and eat! I mean it, sit down and eat your dinner or I’m calling Uncle Gomez and you’re not blowing up any trains. I mean it this time! Aw, what the hell, I’ll clean up.”

But we’re lucky to live now, when that never happens.

Added: Mr. Wolcott, I love you.

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Let the Past Remind Us Of What We Are Not Now

Yesterday was Friday the 13th, which makes lots of people nervous. They don’t know why, but if you ask they will speculate. There were 13 people around the table at the Last Supper, some will tell you. Numerologically speaking, 1 + 3 = 4, a feminine number, weak, not lucky, others will say. I don’t know about yours, but my eyes glaze over when numbers and luck turn up in the same premise, which is why in casinos I’m a squawking mess – we’ll talk about that someday, when you’re older, no matter how old you are now. Are you near death? Then we’re close. A strong contender for the source of paraskavedekatriaphobia or fear of Friday the thirteenth is Friday, 13 October, 1307, the day Philip the Fair had Jacques de Molay and the Knights Templar in France arrested. Subsequently, the knights were tortured and burned at the stake, which to the modern American mind is so far out of the range of possibilities as to be laughable. Philip did what? And what happened? And nobody jumped out shouting, “Just kidding!” at the last moment and passed out hotdogs and marshmallows?

The reason we can afford to be horrified and not terrified is that our Constitution prohibits cruel and unusual punishment. We can equivocate until the cows come home about the words punishment, cruel, unusual and, um, cows, but the fact remains that in our time, it is hugely unlikely that American felons will be burned at the stake in the public square. You can say what you like about whatever threat we face from abroad, our founding fathers knew our worst enemy will always be ourselves.

Amendment XIII
Section 1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.

A Section 1. implies a Section 2., but either I’m too harried to find it or someone flunked Outlines 101. Yesterday, Siobhan weighed in on the Constitution in general.

Siobhan: You know, Ben Franklin was only doing this to get laid.
Tata: I respect that. In fact, that may be my plan, too.
Siobhan: I couldn’t make out what the wording of Amendment XI meant but I am reminded that opium played a big part in the Constitutional process.
Tata: Oooh! If we legalize that, virtually everyone can be a Constitutional scholar!

Until a few years ago, I read history, which is essentially the struggle of human beings against their most barbaric impulses, and consoled myself with the thought that at least no one was burned during the Salem Witch Trials. Unfortunately, history is also often written by people who have the most to gain by controlling posterity’s image of past events, so what most Americans know about things like eighteenth and nineteenth century slave rebellions is exactly zip. So in reality that may take hundreds of years to establish, sometimes there is no consolation to be had.

New York Burning is a well-told tale of a once-notorious episode that took place in Manhattan in 1741. Though, as Jill Lepore writes, New York’s “slave past has long been buried,” for most of the 18th century one in five inhabitants of Manhattan were enslaved, making it second only to Charleston, South Carolina, “in a wretched calculus of urban unfreedom.” Over the course of a few weeks in 1741, ten fires burned across Manhattan, sparking hysteria and numerous conspiracy rumors. Initially, rival politicians blamed each other for the blazes, but they soon found a common enemy. Based solely on the testimony of one white woman, some 200 slaves were accused of conspiring to burn down the city, murder the resident whites, and take over the local government. Under duress, 80 slaves confessed to the crimes and were forced to implicate others. When the trial was over, 13 black men were burned at the stake, 17 more were hanged (along with four whites accused of working with them), and 70 others were shipped off to the Caribbean where slavery conditions were even worse.

By necessity, Jill Lepore bases much of her research on a journal written in 1744 by New York Supreme Court Justice Daniel Horsmanden, which she describes as “one of the most startling and vexing documents in early American history” and “a diary, a mystery, a history, and maybe one of English literature’s first detective stories.” Adding cultural and political context to the available evidence, Lepore questions whether there was a conspiracy at all, or if it was blind fear run amok that led to the guilty verdicts for so many slaves. As she points out, fear of slave revolt was a real and consistent theme throughout the early days of the colonies. Crisply written and meticulously researched (the book includes several detailed appendices), New York Burning is a gripping narrative of events that led to what one colonist referred to as the “bonfires of the Negroes.” -Shawn Carkonen

Book review aside, we have a terrifying truth to face: inside us all exist the fear and the germ that grew into this horror. We say it doesn’t and if it does, we will not cultivate its growth, but there is no other excuse for our submission to the Patriot Act, to wiretapping and warrantless searches. We are seeing now the growth of this same horror in slow motion, perhaps. The elements are the same: fear, brown-skinned people, a supposed threat to our way of life. If you slow down and think, you can see where the monster is growing and what it will destroy.

I don’t have to tell you. You already know.

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Love, Sister, It’s Just A Kiss Away

I was standing in the store last night when in walked exactly what I needed: a tai chi teacher with a studio within walking distance of my apartment, and when I said, “It’s as if I summoned you,” he stuttered a lot. I understood. He was shocked by my great beauty, as so many are. For instance, my orthodontist loves me so much he says I need braces for another ten years. If he weren’t absolutely adorable, I might cut his brake lines.

This morning, I walked to work but it was different because today I walked to work – for SCIENCE! Our story so far: summer and early autumn temperatures have permitted me to toss everything into a beachbag then slung across my back, and I’ve been walking about a mile or a mile and a half to the library. The bonus: a return trip eight hours later means I get some exercise twice a day. Joy! On today’s episode: temperatures dropped overnight into the forties and what you may not know is I am a tremendous temperature coward. I hate the cold with a fiery passion; I fight the Frozen Menace with tenacious indoor coziness, preferably with marshmallows. So it was only with the greatest courage that I donned a scarf, mittens, my Sunday Go Ta Protest Anarak and furry vermillion ear muffs. I knew the terrors of Arctic exploration! I thought of Shackleton’s harrowing ordeal in the polar pack ice. Then I walked to work. I was surprisingly comfortable. I don’t know what all those dead sailors were complaining about.

Here, hold this –

Amendment XI
The judicial power of the United States shall not be construed to extend to any suit in law or equity, commenced or prosecuted against one of the United States by citizens of another state, or by citizens or subjects of any foreign state.

That one was digging into spleen. I might need a real backpack soon, if I find out – for SCIENCE! – that temperatures in the thirties and forties are no impediment to walking to work. This one –

Amendment XII
The electors shall meet in their respective states and vote by ballot for President and Vice-President, one of whom, at least, shall not be an inhabitant of the same state with themselves; they shall name in their ballots the person voted for as President, and in distinct ballots the person voted for as Vice-President, and they shall make distinct lists of all persons voted for as President, and of all persons voted for as Vice-President, and of the number of votes for each, which lists they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the seat of the government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate;–The President of the Senate shall, in the presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the certificates and the votes shall then be counted;–the person having the greatest number of votes for President, shall be the President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of electors appointed; and if no person have such majority, then from the persons having the highest numbers not exceeding three on the list of those voted for as President, the House of Representatives shall choose immediately, by ballot, the President. But in choosing the President, the votes shall be taken by states, the representation from each state having one vote; a quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from two-thirds of the states, and a majority of all the states shall be necessary to a choice. And if the House of Representatives shall not choose a President whenever the right of choice shall devolve upon them, before the fourth day of March next following, then the Vice-President shall act as President, as in the case of the death or other constitutional disability of the President. The person having the greatest number of votes as Vice-President, shall be the Vice-President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of electors appointed, and if no person have a majority, then from the two highest numbers on the list, the Senate shall choose the Vice-President; a quorum for the purpose shall consist of two-thirds of the whole number of Senators, and a majority of the whole number shall be necessary to a choice. But no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of President shall be eligible to that of Vice-President of the United States.

– might’ve been a bit much for my back. I should’ve left that one at home, maybe. Oh, who are we kidding? I love any Constitutional amendment using the word devolve. Which reminds me: it’s Eighties Friday on Altrok Radio, and sometimes a raving beauty like myself skips the rave and makes for the beautiful noise.

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