Occupy Congress, One Person at a Time

So I didn’t occupy anything today. At least not in the protesting sense. I was too busy figuring out how to make five zillion double-sided, three-hole-punch copies for my kid’s teacher. So I suppose I was occupying space in the universe, just maybe not where it was most useful.

Although that’s arguable. Here in Reno, the Occupy Movement has taken over the area in front of an abandoned indoor pool. With the exception of camping somewhere in the desert or up in the mountains, you couldn’t pick a spot in this town to be less visible. Actually, more people would probably see you in the mountains — we do like our hiking. . .

It’s not that I don’t respect our Reno Occupy group’s dedication or what it’s trying to do. It’s just sort of tough to get too excited about it. Not that I wish I were being whacked by the NYPD or getting hit with pepper spray in Seattle. There’s a better than average chance that I’d be too chicken to do any of that. But when it comes to “fightin’ the power” here, I think we may need to switch gears. Actually, after today’s big showing, I think it’s time to switch gears everywhere.

You ma’am, are correct.

The people who are going to make the real changes for us and our country are sitting in that big, white, domed building in Washington. So as far as I’m concerned, we need to start occupying them.

I don’t mean just a massive occupation of Washington itself (although that’s still a good idea). I mean bugging the crap out of every single Congressperson and Senator individually. Where they live, where they work, where they buy their groceries, where they stop for Starbucks. Five-hundred and thirty-five mini-protests that just follow them around incessantly until they actually start doing their jobs.

People who enjoy tormenting preteens

I might feel sort of guilty about doing this sort of thing for about ten seconds if it weren’t for people like the crazy anti-abortion activists who do stuff like find the landlord who rents the space for an abortion clinic and then stand outside his sixth-grade daughter’s school with graphic pictures of fetuses. I figure if they can do that to a guy who just owns a building, we should be able to call out the people who’ve actively campaigned to represent us.

Our representatives are like kids in a candy store who’ve eaten too much sugar and gotten sick but still don’t have the strength or maturity to stop themselves. The candy store owner certainly isn’t going to try. So we’re all going to have to step up and be the parents — the grown ups — and tell them the party’s over. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s time to get home, eat a healthy dinner, and clean up their toys.

Oh, and by the way — no honey, pizza isn’t a vegetable. You need to eat your broccoli.