there it is, Mitt’s A-mer-i-ca

I’m idly speculating that Romney’s campaign — on the heels of the Mittster stepping on his

uvula last week with odious remarks about the embassy attack — is now abyss-wide open to

suggestions, even half-assed ones.  I have such an item.

 

Some historical context first.  Mitt’s father George was born in Mexico.  George’s maternal

grandparents, Mormon polygamists, left the U.S. to avoid prosecution for the practice.

George’s parents, natives of territorial Utah, married and lived in the state of Chihuahua.

A monogamous couple, they chose U.S. citizenship for their seven children.

 

After the Mexican Revolution erupted in 1910, George and his family fled the nation to es-

cape rebels who were raiding Mormon settlements.  They lost nearly everything. Starting

over in Texas, they lived on government relief for a few months before moving to L.A.

George’s father found work there as a carpenter.  George started school.  His classmates

taunted him for his nation of birth, calling him “Mex”.

 

So there you have an authentic “humble origins” story.  Granted, it’s not as interesting as

Steven Colbert’s compelling though thoroughly B.S. tale about how his great-grandfather

in the old country used to lick the balls of his male goats to keep them from wandering off.

But it’s much better than Ann Romney’s anecdotes.

 

Okay.  Kindly hold those thoughts and leap to 1951.  The movie West Side Story is released

and claims a whopping ten Oscars, including “Best Picture”.  It was a modern retelling of the

Romeo and Juliet romance, with rival families becoming warring Manhattan street gangs.

One was all local talent and the other Puerto Rican immigrants.

 

Wouldn’t you know it?  The Latina Juliet, played by Natalie Wood (the daughter of Russian

immigrants), fell in love with the Polish Romeo.  Conflict and choreography ensued.

 

Jude and I watched it recently.  Parts of it soared, some of it sagged and I could never get

past imagining an encounter between a Jet or a Shark and a member of the street corner

drug vendors from The Wire.  The Westsider would dance around in his suit for 15 seconds

or less before one of the Barksdale crew popped a cap in his pirouetting ass.

 

My favourite scene is the production number “A-mer-i-ca”, where the Puerto Rican guys

debate the merits of their new home with their gals.  It is a raucous, witty, jubilant thing.

Let’s review.

 

Now.  Harken back to the Romneys about seven inches away and bear with me.  This may

be an arduous transition.  Pace yourself and drink plenty of fluids.

 

Why, I reasoned, couldn’t Mitt tell his family’s”origins” story, leaving out the part about

government relief, to the tune of “A-mer-i-ca”?  It’s a classic song ready for recycling.

Maybe Mitt could snag some stray Hispanic and youth votes.

 

Then I realized why he couldn’t.  If the lyrics are calibrated to the GOP platform, they would

sound a little something like this:

 

“Puerto Ricans, would you be sporting,

And get on with self-deporting?

 

Always Rush Limbaugh is blowing

About how your numbers are growing.

We’ve got trillions owing,

And the terror teeming,

Michelle Bachmann screaming.

 

We want our nation shades lighter

That makes our future much brighter.

 

You might not fit in A-mer-i-ca.

We’ll give you shit in A-mer-i-ca.

You’re way too brown for A-mer-i-ca.

Must put you down in A-mer-i-ca.

 

Some ways we’d like you to greet us.

As a guest worker or fetus.

Oh, and we’re abstinence only,

That just might make you feel lonely.

 

You can’t be gay in A-mer-i-ca.

For that you’d pay in A-mer-i-ca.

But you can pray in A-mer-i-ca.

That’s the right way in A-mer-i-ca.

 

We like to play loose with facts-es

So we can abolish taxes.

More cash for i-phones and fridges,

Less so for highways and bridges.

 

We fear that you’ll find O-ba-ma-care.

Terrible grind, that O-ba-ma-care.

Mommies are harmed by O-ba-ma-care.

Commies all swarm to O-ba-ma-care.

 

More people might change our climate.

Not that we really believe that.

Deregulating is so neat.

Look how well it worked on Wall Street.

 

Now some more scare from O-ba-ma-care.

You’ll lose your hair with O-ba-ma-care.

Just gloom and doom in O-ba-ma-care.

Death panels loom in O-ba-ma-care.

 

And if you make it through all that,

We’ve one more way to knock you flat.

Just when you think that you got there,

We will screw with your Medicare.”

 

Thank you for your patience.  Dance amongst yourselves.