Politicians: On Your Mark, Get Set; Are We Ready? No!

The knock at my door comes early--much too early for my liking.

I peer out the window, through the dead needles of the Christmas wreath.

“Hi!” Five guys in suits are on the porch. Missionaries? A roving men’s chorus? The IRS?

My eyes focus slowly. It’s them--Al Jr. and Bill and John and George Dubya and Steve. (Four of these five had overachieving dads. Is that what it does to a guy, I wonder--make him run for president?)

“It’s the primary!” they chirp.

I yawn and glance toward the kitchen calendar. “What do I look like, Punxsutawney Phil? Come back in June.”

They laugh--that hearty, indulgent laugh of men who know they are so very wise.

“It’s a March primary now, remember? Look, we gotta go, they’re lining up behind us. We’ll just leave you some literature. And thanks for your support.”

I look down the stairs. There are Steve and Barry, who want to become Los Angeles’ DA, and Gil, who wants to stay DA. There, too, are the three Republican men--the cowboy, the avocado grower and the professor--running against one another in March to run expensively and exhaustively against Dianne Feinstein for her Senate seat.

Every single member of the House of Representatives and the state Assembly and half the state Senate. People on each side of the 20 ballot propositions, with lawsuits in one hand and money in the other. And they’re all looking for that rarest of Californians, me--a registered and regular voter.

I step outside and clear my throat:

“Ladies, gentlemen, please! This is California! Your knock will be answered in the order received. Have a nice day.”

*

Be careful what you wish for, someone once warned --it might come true.

California wanted to be a player, a political kingmaker (and one day, queenmaker), instead of lagging behind in June with a primary that was too late to make a difference, a meek little me-too of an election. California wanted the candidates not just to take the money and leave, but to spend the night and respect us in the morning.

Now we have a March primary barreling down upon us--state Legislature, Senate, Congress, as well as 20 ballot measures, the L.A. County district attorney primary, and the presidential gaggle.

Who knew?

You wouldn’t know it by your political party, if you have one.

Thanks to progressive reforms of about a century ago, California political parties have been gutted and de-boned, unlike the robust party machines in places like Chicago and Massachusetts, which find jobs and lay on banquets and rouse the populace on election day. Witness how many of our local offices--mayor, supervisor, DA--are nonpartisan. Thriving political parties would die of shame at seeing so many big job-holders without a D or an R after their names.

The strongest political party in California is neither Republican nor Democrat, Green nor Libertarian, but interest groups, the pressure groups that are sometimes left, sometimes right, but almost always money.

And You the Voter are so not a political party animal that you opted for an open primary. If no one running on your side of the party line looks interesting enough, you can cross over and shop for a candidate from the other parties. And if that affords no good choices, Proposition 23 would allow you to cast a nonbinding vote for “none of the above.”

Bond measures--there are six on this ballot--rarely set the world on fire. There’s no Prop. 187 to send voters stampeding to the polling places. The most revolutionary measure may be Prop. 26, which is sort of about bonds too, because it would require only a majority vote, not the current two-thirds vote, to approve school bonds.

You wouldn’t know from TV news that there’s an election, either. Except for a very few TV news shows, and ads that cover familiar ground--Indian gambling again, a lawyers vs. insurance company slugfest--hardly any time is devoted to campaigns in a state with the most politicians, the biggest congressional delegation. God forbid a newscast should have to sacrifice a moment of coverage of the Golden Globes to hear candidates speak on global warming.

So welcome to California, you seasoned pols, you big-league blowhards from the Beltway and the Big Apple.

You’re not in New Hampshire any more.

*

I knew this campaign was getting serious when I got a Christmas card from John McCain. I got another one from Steve Soboroff, whose mayoral primary isn’t until April--of 2001.

Gosh, it’s just like knowing Christmas is coming, isn’t it? You can hardly wait.

Patt Morrison’s column appears Fridays. Her e-mail address is patt.morrison@latimes.com