It seems that a disproportionately high number of the political conversations I overhear are at the gym. Maybe this is a sign that people are really starting to sweat over the Presidential race?

This time, it was a couple of guys on the weight machines. I had no choice but to eavesdrop (the leg press is rather centrally located).

"I tell you, she’s smart."

"Yeah?"

"She is. She knows her stuff. Every curve ball they’ve thrown at her, she’s been able to hit it right back. That girl’s somethin’ else."

"Yeah."

I know enough by now to know who it is they’re talking about.

"I tell you," says the first gentleman, a man in his mid-60s with erratic tufts of gray hair. "She’s us. She’s Middle America! She’s just like you and me. And that’s what we need in this country."

I fight the urge to say that, even if we ignore the more than $1 million she has in personal assets….and even if we ignore the strikingly un-Middle American wardrobe she’s been sporting of late… even then, maybe someone who’s "just like you and me" is not who we need in the second most important position in the executive branch of the whole system of government in the United States of America. Maybe a VP candidate should know a little more than, say, Joe the Plumber. Perhaps he or she should be…oh, I don’t know…marginally well-versed in matters of foreign policy, economics, etc. My friend Brad and I discussed this recently, and he brought up a valid point: Do we really want someone who’s just like us as Vice President of our country?

Instead, I stay focused on the leg press, biting my tongue. "She really is something," the man says, with reverence in his tone.

The other man is a little younger, with a classic brown mullet and a shirt that says "Proud to be an American" on the front. When he stands up to grab the squirt bottle, I see the back of his shirt: Osama Bin Laden in a turban, smack dab in the middle of a red bull’s-eye.

"I don’t know about McCain, though," this man says, making a valiant attempt at disinfecting the seat of the weight machine but really only managing to spread sweat/spray around with a towel. "I don’t know if I buy his spiel."

The older gentleman starts gesticulating wildly. "Do you shoot?"

"Just got my gun back," says the mullet-man, as my eyes are drawn again to the bull’s-eye on the back of his shirt. I can’t help but wonder who took his gun away.

"Well you might as well kiss it goodbye again if Obama gets into office. He’s gonna take away our Second Amendment rights."

At this point I am reminded of a commercial I heard on the radio a few days ago. "When Obama said we cling to guns and religion, it showed how out of touch he is with small-town America," a man with a thick country accent growls. "We love our God, and we love our guns!"

Sigh.

The grey-haired man tries a different approach with his conversation partner. "Have you seen Obama?" he asks in earnest, "Have you seen this guy? I tell you, I have a picture where they’re all doing the Pledge of Allegiance. Everyone else has a hand over their heart. And do you know what he’s doing?" He shakes his head in disbelief, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say, even though he’s most certainly told this story twenty times before, at least. "He’s just standing there. Like this." He slouches with his arms crossed. "He’s just standing there! During the Pledge of Allegiance. And this man would be our Commander in Chief!" His less-than-enthusiastic listener is trying hard to focus on doing squats, so he’s at risk of losing his audience. "I have the picture," the older man says again, as if to prove his point.

In the meantime, I am at risk of losing my patience with this kind of ignorance. These sorts of tactics—scaring people, impugning Obama as an American citizen—seem base and sophomoric. Aren’t there enough official smears circulating already? Anonymous robocalls, literature accusing Obama of being a terrorist, emails that circulate about his Muslim heritage—and now this man is accusing Obama of a lack of patriotism. Doesn’t Barack’s little flag pin mean anything?

Of course this political gym rat shouldn’t bear all the blame. I am reminded of the man in Ohio that told my canvassing partner, John, "I’m voting for the American, like any American would do."

Or the woman who told me she didn’t like Barack’s name—it was too Muslim, and it scared her. "If he was named Bill," she said, "I’d probably vote for him."

Or the man in Pennsylvania who came right out and said why he wouldn’t be voting for Obama. "I’m prejudiced," he said, without a trace of regret.

Is this really our country?

Amidst the smears and the fear, I continue to hope. And, as a way of fighting back, I decided to raise my voice in the Los Angeles Times. As we slip headfirst into demagoguery and fear mongering, I still cling to my belief that, try as you might, You can’t smear hope.