Politics, noun. A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage." —Ambrose Bierce

I am thinking this blog should adopt the policy of Homeland Security of posting warning colors, red, orange, whatever, to give a generally heightened sense of anxiety with no means of remedy. Red could be, "I am about to grind out another half-baked idea that struck me in the wee hours of the morning, so I'll probably change my mind about this later." Orange is, "This is going to be an insufferable load of bombastic drivel (my mind inexplicably moves into that mode sometimes) and in the unlikely event that I ever read it again myself, I'll be embarrassed." That sort of thing.

Anyway, this should be sort of a blend of red and orange, (is that where we get burnt orange?) which should be its own category that is even worse: I am going to talk about local politics....again.

This is in essence a guide to responding to local candidates. They should also be ranked with warning colors:

1. Judges and prosecutors are red and the higher the office, the more alarming the shade of red should be. Sheriffs are usually red, depending on the nature of your work.

2. Legislative offices such as State Rep, Senate, school board, TSC board, Port Authority are orange and the higher the office the scarier the orange.

3. Risible candidate posts. These are the ones either with no power or no responsibility. My old job of County Chairman comes to mind. I am not that great at describing colors. I hear words of color that do not conjure up any image at all--mauve, taupe. This warning color would be sort of like the flesh of a cadaver.

The orange offices can move to red if you actually want something such as a contract to tow cars or collect taxes.

The red offices can move to orange if you never commit any crimes and do not practice law.

The cadaver-colored offices move to red if you want to run for something, yourself.

Here are some of my problems with participating in local races at all:

1. Most of the time it doesn't matter who gets elected because no individual is stronger than the institutional structure of the office he holds. People ask, "Is he a good sheriff?" "Is he a good DA?" Even if the candidate is far more honest and less vindictive than the norm, this is hard to answer. It is like asking, "Is he a good flood victim?" "Is he a good junk yard dog?" Even though the office holder may face the job with integrity and courage, the nature of the job always ultimately beats the good person into a bloody stub of compromises and ugly deeds.

2. It is dangerous to oppose red zone incumbents. Only if they are really horrible can this even be considered. (I know the firebrands among you will view this as gutless). Even if you are certain an incumbent will lose, you usually must still support him, because even after he has been defeated he sits on the bench or in the DA's office or in the sheriff's office for another nine months.

3. I am not sure it is moral. I quit voting entirely during my Tolstoy period. (This period lingers with me, but in a weaker form). Matthew VII, 1, again.

When I spend a lot of energy in electoral politics I begin to get the type of foreboding described by Poe's Masque of the Red Death. As you may recall, the prince (or lord or king, some high muckety-muck) brought a thousand of the beautiful people into a great ballroom to hide from the plague that was killing off the poor in his regime. The plague comes in disguised in a fancy mask and everyone dies.

The striking thing to me about this story is not the morality play of mistreating the poor. It is the jarring, teeth-grinding contrast between the gaiety of the party and the dread engendered from the nasty future we know is inevitable. It is not that I don't enjoy the party of electoral politics (at least as a spectator sport), it is that there is a plague going on among the poor and it won't leave the privileged alone for long:

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.