I’m was psyched.
Why wade through the hysteria on Fox and the droning on NPR waiting for those bits of objectivity that connect me to America’s core beliefs? I can simply go to Main Street myself and drink directly from the waters of wisdom.
I grabbed my keys and started briskly towards my aging Volkswagen. Even before reaching my ride, the idea propelling me dropped into a pothole. I didn’t have the slightest clue where “Main Street” was!
What to do? What to do?
I consulted the Wizard.
Across the keyboard, my fingers danced with a masterful aplomb as I entered his name.
“How can I find Main Street”?
As soon as he understood where I was coming from, I was provided with a set of precise instructions.
With map in hand, I navigated to the coordinates provided. I found the few buildings there were either boarded up or in various other states of vacant disrepair. Only a solitary young woman stood on one corner.
“Excuse me miss, isn’t this Main St.” I inquired. After a quick appraisal of my appearance, she replied “are you a cop?”
I double-checked the street sign. Yep, it did say Main Street. Can this be the place from which candidates derive inspiration? Nah, it can’t be. Besides, the Wizard is never wrong. Putting the whole thing down to a computer glitch, I pushed on.
Things went from bad to worse. My frustrations mounted.
Arriving at one end of the road, I found a rather corpulent and short tempered woman in a little booth at the entrance to the community. She wouldn’t let me in. Unless I could prove I belonged there, I would have to go away.