Dance of the Reptiles
Page 34
Rick Perry, the Texas governor, spent last week denying that he was drunk or high when he gave a speech punctuated by odd giggles and twitches in New Hampshire. The video has become a YouTube sensation, and it’s hilarious stuff—at least until you consider that this goober might someday have his finger on the button that controls America’s nuclear arsenal.
In the governor’s defense, his campaign staff said that Perry was simply being “passionate” in front of the New Hampshire crowd. Jerry Garcia liked to perform in a passionate state, too. Before he went onstage with the Grateful Dead, he’d go straight to his dressing room and drop some heavy passion.
After that weird speech, Perry’s strategic mistake was claiming to be straight when it happened. He should have just said, “Yeah, okay, I had a few beers.” Or even “Shoot, I must’ve accidentally popped a Xanax instead of my Lipitor.”
Then people would have thought: Oh, that explains it.
But the possibility that he was totally sober isn’t quite as funny. In fact, it’s semi-terrifying.
This isn’t the sergeant at arms of your local Kiwanis Club who’s nervous about speaking in public. This is a career politician who wants to be the freaking commander in chief of the United States.
With Perry polling only slightly ahead of Dr. Conrad Murray, the New Hampshire debacle should have sunk his hopes for the White House. No way. The Texan will be rolling full steam into Florida, and for that we have Herman Cain to thank.
Last week it was revealed that the pizza king turned front-runner had been twice formally named in sexual-harassment complaints when he was head of the National Restaurant Association. (There was a time in this great nation’s history when a background in franchise-food services wasn’t considered a springboard to the U.S. presidency, but this is a new day.)
Cain denied the damaging charges and accused his rival Perry of leaking the information to the press. Things can only get uglier between now and January, which means Floridians can look forward to a blaring, venomous, low-class campaign.
The trick is not to get depressed but, rather, to enjoy the show for what it is.
Michele Bachmann will be here, and God only knows what will come out of her mouth. Don’t be surprised if she confuses the Seminole tribe with the Apaches.
And then there’s undersedated Rick Santorum, moldy Newt Gingrich, invisible Jon Huntsman, and dependably amusing Ron Paul, who hovers like a benign but addled Yoda on the fringe of every debate. The race is Mitt Romney’s to win. All he has to do is appear halfway sane, which should be easy, considering the competition.
Romney’s biggest hurdle will be trying to explain his pandemic flip-flopping, and that might prove impossible. His best shot at victory is to stick with two basic talking points:
1. Obama’s a terrible president.
2. I’ll be a terrific president.
As Cain and Perry stumble, a Romney win is looking like a done deal. However, Florida is a land of unpleasant surprises where front-runners can crash and burn.
Ask Gary Hart, whose bid for the Democratic nomination began unraveling with his antics aboard a Miami yacht called Monkey Business in 1987. Less titillating but equally final was the collapse of Rudy Giuliani during the last presidential campaign. The former New York mayor staked everything on winning Florida, and he virtually camped out here for weeks. But the more stump speeches he gave and the more hands he shook, the lower he dropped in the polls. To know Rudy was to lose interest. As a result, John McCain captured the state and, ultimately, the Republican nomination.
Romney is less prickly than Giuliani, and he definitely has better hair, no small advantage in national politics. His advisers will coach him to stand tall, stay cool, and avoid getting dragged into the mud pit with Cain, Perry, and the others. However, the mud pit is where all the fun happens. That’s why so many TV viewers are watching the GOP debates, waiting for somebody to melt down or fly into orbit.
People say they want civility in politics, but that’s a pipe dream. The presidential campaign is way too long and silly.
Being connoisseurs of the absurd, Floridians should welcome the candidates as fountains of comic relief. For voters here, the road to the primary will be difficult to endure without a sense of humor or 50 milligrams of “passion.”
November 10, 2012
Once Again, Florida’s the National Punch Line
The bad news is that Florida screwed up another big election.
The good news is that it doesn’t matter this time.
By now, we Floridians have stoically accepted our laughingstock role in the Electoral College. To comedy writers, we’re the gift that keeps on giving. What would Jon Stewart and David Letterman do without us?
We are the Joke State.
And by a stroke of good fortune, it’s much easier to smile today than it was 12 years ago.
Gov. Rick Scott should send a bushel of oranges to every voter in Ohio as thanks for getting Florida off the hook and sparing the nation from another Bush v. Gore debacle.
The 2012 presidential race was basically over last Tuesday night when precincts in Cleveland and other key areas began reporting. President Obama’s victory was announced shortly after 11 P.M., while many Miami voters were still waiting in long lines. To their honor, lots of them stayed and voted anyway.
On Wednesday, Floridians awoke to learn that thousands of ballots remained uncounted in Miami-Dade and several other counties. As the sorting process dragged into Thursday, we all began hearing from friends and relatives living in normal places where elections are conducted without scandal or farce. Whether it was by text, e-mail, or phone call, the gist of the inquiry was the same: What is wrong with your state?
CBS asked me the same question, and all I could say was: “It’s a freak show.”
Yes, Florida’s ballot was ridiculously long, stacked with dense constitutional amendments.
Yes, exceptionally long poll lines were made worse by the Legislature’s decision to cut the early-voting period from 14 days to eight days. It was one of several Republican strategies to stifle turnout in the cities, and it backfired.
And yes, Gov. Scott could have made the election go smoother if he hadn’t refused to extend polling hours for early voting. However, there was scant chance of the governor lifting a finger to help urban Hispanics or African-Americans cast ballots, because they often vote Democrat.
Adding to those factors last week were the same demons that helped send the 2000 presidential contest to the Supreme Court—random bungling, lack of preparation, and free-floating confusion.
Chads or no chads, Florida simply isn’t equipped to run a major election. We’re in way over our heads, and we should admit it.
Mixed among all the smart, hardworking people in county election offices are a few witless boobs, some of them in supervisory positions. All it takes is one to gum up the works.
While Miami-Dade is no stranger to treachery in its elections, last week’s fiasco is more likely the result of unpreparedness. Poll workers were swamped with last-minute absentee ballots from voters who got weary of standing in line. Once more, Florida found itself in the humiliating position of being the only state in the union that couldn’t get its act together and add up the votes of its citizens on time.
By midnight Tuesday, every other state on the electoral map was blue or red. We were the only blank one on the board and stayed that way late into the week. This time all of America wasn’t anxiously waiting. It was chuckling and shaking its head.
We can’t count on Ohio or any of the swing states to bail us out again in 2016, so what are our options?
In case you were wondering, the U.S. Constitution makes no allowance for a state to exempt itself from presidential elections in order to avoid national ridicule. Nor is there any legal mechanism by which Florida’s 11 million registered voters might have their ballots shipped somewhere safe to be counted—say, Kansas.
Maybe we just hold our heads up high and try again, bracing for th
e inevitable screwup and the snarky one-liners to follow.
If the next presidential campaign proves as exhausting and dispiriting as this one, the country will sorely need a laugh or two when it’s over. Perhaps that is Florida’s true electoral destiny—to be the comic relief, the perpetual punch line.
It’s way less painful than being the decider.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I’m deeply indebted to Bob Radziewicz, formerly of The Miami Herald and now at the University of Miami School of Communication. His sharp editing eye has improved my columns for more years than either of us care to count.
I’m also boundlessly grateful to the newsroom staff of the Herald, which even in these lean times puts out a damn good paper. In particular I want to thank Juan Vasquez, Dora Bain, and Myriam Marquez in the Op-Ed department, and also the publisher, David Landsberg, who honors the sacred but fragile wall between editorial and business operations. David leaves me alone to write what I feel, no matter what kind of grief the columns might bring his way.
Lastly, I must once again thank the inexhaustible Diane Stevenson for sifting through a small mountain of tirades and riffs to choose some favorites from the last dozen years. This is the third time Diane has put together a collection of my newspaper work, yet her energy and enthusiasm remain unflagging. It’s baffling to a dark Nordic soul like mine, but I count myself lucky to have her as a reader and a friend.
If nothing else, these columns should strip away any remaining mystery about where I find the inspiration—and source material—for my warped comic novels. I can’t imagine living anywhere as corrupt, overrun, mismanaged, and freak-infested as Florida. I also can’t imagine living anywhere as beautiful or so worth fighting for.
Carl Hiaasen
Vero Beach
June 7, 2013
CARL HIAASEN
Dance of the Reptiles
Carl Hiaasen was born and raised in Florida. He is the author of thirteen novels, including the bestsellers Bad Monkey, Star Island, Nature Girl, Skinny Dip, Sick Puppy, and Lucky You, and four bestselling children’s books, Chomp, Hoot, Flush, and Scat. He joined The Miami Herald in 1976 and worked on the newspaper’s magazine and investigations team before starting his column in 1985. In 2010, he received a Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.
www.carlhiaasen.com
BOOKS BY CARL HIAASEN
FICTION
Bad Monkey
Star Island
Nature Girl
Skinny Dip
Basket Case
Sick Puppy
Lucky You
Stormy Weather
Strip Tease
Native Tongue
Skin Tight
Double Whammy
Tourist Season
FOR YOUNG READERS
Chomp
Scat
Flush
Hoot
NONFICTION
Dance of the Reptiles: Selected Columns (edited by Diane Stevenson)
The Downhill Lie: A Hacker’s Return to a Ruinous Sport
Paradise Screwed: Selected Columns (edited by Diane Stevenson)
Kick Ass: Selected Columns (edited by Diane Stevenson)
Team Rodent: How Disney Devours the World
ALSO BY CARL HIAASEN
BASKET CASE
Jack Tagger’s years in exile at the obituaries desk of a South Florida daily haven’t dulled his investigative reporter’s nose for a good story. When Jimmy Stoma, the infamous front man of Jimmy and the Slut Puppies, dies in a fishy scuba accident, Jack sees his ticket back to page one—if only he can figure out what really happened. Standing in his way are, just for starters, his ambitious young editor, who hasn’t yet fired anyone but plans to “break her cherry” with Jack, and the rock star’s pop-singer widow, who’s using the occasion of her husband’s death to relaunch her own career. The soulless, profit-hungry Jack becomes so obsessed with unraveling the lies surrounding Jimmy Stoma’s strange fate that he’s willing to risk his career, even his life.
Fiction
THE DOWNHILL LIE
A Hacker’s Return to a Ruinous Sport
Bestselling author Carl Hiaasen wisely quit golfing in 1973. But some ambitions refuse to die, and as the years passed and the memories of slices and hooks faded, it dawned on Carl that there might be one thing in life he could do better in middle age than he could as a youth. So gradually he ventured back to the rolling, frustrating green hills of the golf course, where he ultimately—and foolishly—agreed to compete in a country-club tournament against players who can actually hit the ball. Filled with harrowing divots, deadly doglegs, and excruciating sandtraps, The Downhill Lie is a hilarious chronicle of misadventure that will have you rolling with laughter.
Memoir/Sports
With Bill Montalbano
A DEATH IN CHINA
From Carl Hiaasen and the distinguished foreign correspondent Bill Montalbano comes a relentless novel of treachery and murder set in the clenched society of China, where even tomorrow’s weather is a state secret. David Wang, a Chinese-American art historian, dies shortly after a visit to an ancient tomb housing priceless artifacts. Officials diagnose death by duck, a fatal confluence of culture shock and rich cuisine. But Wang’s friend Tom Stratton suspects something more sinister, especially after the dead man’s brother, a highly placed Party official, tries to have him kidnapped. From a nightmarish interrogation to assassination by cobra, A Death in China takes readers on a trip with no rest stops through a world of claustrophobic mistrust and terrifying danger.
Crime Fiction
TRAP LINE
With its dozens of outlying islands and the native Conchs’ historically low regard for the law, Key West is a smuggler’s paradise. All that’s needed are the captains to run the contraband. Breeze Albury is one of the best fishing captains on the Rock, and he’s in no mood to become the Machine’s delivery boy. So the Machine sets out to persuade him. It starts out by taking away Albury’s livelihood. Then it robs him of his freedom. But when the Machine threatens Albury’s son, the washed-out wharf rat turns into a raging, sea-going vigilante. In Trap Line, Hiaasen and Montalbano pit a handful of scruffy Conchs against an armada of drug lords, crooked cops, and homicidal marine lowlife. The result is a crime novel of dizzying velocity, filled with wrenching plot twists, grimily authentic characters, and enough local color for a hundred tropical shirts.
Crime Fiction
VINTAGE BOOKS
Available wherever books are sold.
www.vintagebooks.com