This morning my carpool friend was a bit groggy from a night of restless sleep. “Fe,” she said, “Sarah Palin was in my dream last night. She was on a podium, saying terrible things to rile up her fans, and for every horrible thing she said directly to me, I was unable to talk back. It was as if I was gagged”.
It was interesting that a woman of my friend’s intelligence would have such a strong subconscious reaction to a media figure, a manufactured character. Sarah Palin burrowed herself deep into my friend’s id like a tick. The id, for those unfamilar with Freudian theory, is the wild and untamed part of the psyche, which must be controlled by the ego. Unable to shake Palin from her thoughts, my friend’s frustration could find no further voice. She could not dig deep enough or verbalize clearly enough what it was about the Sarah Palin in her head that bothered her so deeply. Mrs. Palin became the boogeyman under her bed. An itch she could not scratch.
What is it about Sarah that stirs up such passionate, even subconscious reaction? How does she get under our skin even as our rational minds adore or dismiss her? Her spunk and folksy demeanor makes you like her. Her sexual attractiveness reminds you of the cute PTA lady you’d like to fuck. Our lizard brains are thrilled and horrified: a hot MILF in four-inch Prada stilettos on Fox News encouraging President Obama to bomb Iran to assure re-election, a concept even neocon Dick Cheney refutes as unwise. Stanley Kubrick, director of the apocalyptic black comedy, “Dr. Strangelove” could not come up with a better film character.