I write columns about politics, and about governing, and about Pres. Donald Trump, who is politics but not governing, and about poverty, which is always the result of politics but never the result of governing.
And, after retiring from a 36-year career as a newspaper reporter, I took a job with a local talk radio station. Callers sometimes call me a communist because I don't want homeless panhandlers executed, and today someone called me an "evil old man" because I don't like a local politician, who is currently under indictment.
Any kind of news or commentary work offers you the choice of selling out to the worst of the world and covering yourself in money, or just standing in one spot, rotating and gibbering under a shower of hatred. I chose the second option. It seemed more honorable when I was young and walked faster.
And it's all right. It really is. I swear.
Last night, I had to watch the election results. The indicted politician, Jasiel Correia, is mayor of Fall River, Massachusetts, where I was born and where I live. I watched the returns with a notebook open on my lap. Correia lost.
I watched the returns with a cup of decaf. I switched to beer for the concession and victory speeches, when every winner and every loser was thanked and congratulated and said Fall River was a city of neighborhoods and hardworking families.
But Section 8 housing and the loss of factory work fired cannonballs through the neighborhoods, while drugs and out-of-wedlock birth turned a lot of families feral.
You can't blame the politicians, not really. Half of them are over 60, and they're talking about the city they remember, not the city where they inhabit the one good neighborhood that still clings to the city's north end.
I'm holding out. I really am. I don't live in that one good neighborhood, but my neighborhood is proudly "not that bad," and there hasn't been a shot fired in 18 months. It's like a Hallmark Christmas movie except there are junkies going through my trash for the deposit bottles.
And I slept and got up the next day and was called a communist and an evil old man. I do not want your pity. The paycheck is enough, and it always has been. If I wasn't working at this, I'd be working at something else, maybe driving a bus.
One of the blessings of talk radio is that, if you do a three-hour show, the boss thinks you've done a lot of work. I'm on in the mornings, 9-noon, and I got off and drove to a diner and ate a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, which I capitalistically paid $6.96 for, including coffee.
And I went home and sat on a mouse-colored couch (my wife swears it's "mauve") and searched the internet on my phone, looking for a good pipe tobacco to smoke between now and Christmas.
I found it, too. It's called "Christmas Spice," and it smells like cinnamon and vanilla. It was on sale, and I got some for myself and for a good friend who smokes a pipe but is not a creature of the internet. If we like it, I'll order enough to last until Christmas.
Which is what communists do the day after an election, what members of the media elite do as the birthday of Jesus Christ approaches
I'm all right. I really am. I swear.
To find out more about Marc Dion and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, "The Land of Trumpin'," is a collection of his best columns. It is available in paperback from Amazon.com and for Nook, Kindle, iBooks and GooglePlay.