november 11 If you had just a minute to breathe and they granted you one final wish
Would you ask for something like another chance?

Not being a completist, here are a few of the things to note from the past seven days:

  1. Man, I'm tired.
  2. 567 votes! All of that effort, comes down to 567 votes. I tell you, if you weren't doing it for the love of belief that something might change someday in the distant, distant future ... you'd want to bang your head into the wall. Here's the web site, which will no doubt be a defunct link soon. I spent most of election day standing on two separate street corners, handing out flyers and being nice to the vast number of old people who came out to vote and saying to myself, "Were you high when you agreed to do this?" The morning hours were whiled away for the Bart Goff campaign for city council, standing in Jackson Heights just mere yards from my home and comfy bed, but oh, no, I'd said I'd hand out flyers, and Mr. Goff was so nice to bike them by the night before that how could I say no? How many candidates ever delivered literature directly to your door, huh? I also got majorly flirted with (and taken to coffee by) another flyer-hander-outer -- a rabbi from Brooklyn .. a married rabbi! Oh, man, I think I'm going to hell and I don't even know why. There was something very bizarre there, although until I heard about the married part of things he was a very nice guy. Then, on to Astoria where I took a few hour respite at the campaign manager's house. Cheryl (pronounced with the hard "Ch") is a cool chick who looks like Parker Posey and that skinny woman from The Practice's love child and who likes Keanu Reeves. Well, we can't all be perfect. We had some Chinese and I was not interested in going out to face the public, but out I went with her and we handed flyers for another few hours, this time for the other candidate. "Afternoon, sir, have you voted yet today?" Push pamphlet, hope they take it. "Thank you, sir!" I am never so obsequious as when I want you to help me get rid of an endless number of flyers. We were completely outgunned, however, by the other, better-funded campaigns. The son of City Councilman For Life Peter Vallone was hanging nearby, and he was running, so there was an annoying, perky woman dashing up and down the street assaulting people with Vallone stickers and asking, "Would you like to meet the candidate?" and shoving right by us. It was sleazy. One woman stopped to talk to everyone, individually, about the campaigns. "How does he feel about merit pay?" she asked me. I had no idea. I thought she meant equal pay for equal work. Heh, heh. I diverted the subject. Another, younger woman saw Vallone's picture on his flyer and our candidate on his flyer and pronounced that our candidate wasn't "as cute" as Vallone. I told her she just hadn't met him yet. I then later (for reasons unknown) decided to tell this little happening to our candidate when he stopped by. My foot tastes nice, I tell you. Idiot. I was totally blasted by about 7:30 and couldn't make it in time for the polls to close, which was when Cheryl was holding a post-election day party, so I went home and was asleep by 9:30. Woke up to learn Bloomberg had bought himself an election. Fits right in with Bush winning. There's a small problem with Bloomberg winning: He owns 72% of the shares of his media corporation. Talk about conflict of interest. What a weasel.
  3. Rebecca, who I've known since we were in 9th grade and who is now a lawyer/reporter for a trade paper inside the law industry (that's how I best understand it; I should know these things better but the brain cells are weary) came up to NYC for her annual convention, which she has to report on. The put her up in the Plaza! I was seething with jealousy. What a gorgeous building that is. Friday night we went to Serendipity (yes, from the film) and had the infamous Frozen Hot Chocolate. Fourteen kinds of chocolate, in a big bowl with fresh whipped cream on the top. The menu says "better than sex." We felt drunk by the time we'd finished it. Ooooooh. I want another. We then headed over to Chicago City Limits, which is, naturally, a misnomer. It's all improv by four or five people, and it's been running almost as long as The Fantastiks, which is to say, years and years and years. The audience (of about 30) shouted out suggestions when asked, and they played out scenes based on those topics. (One extended sequence had them quizzing a guy named Carlos about a nightmare he once had, which the players then turned into a Broadway musical. So they were making up songs about a serial killer chasing Carlos through the forest. You really had to be there. But I was glad I was. That was some funny shit.) I love hanging with Rebecca, and it's hard sometimes to get her alone these days. Nothing against the husband, but let's just say I haven't known Paul since 9th grade, and he's not always ... invited. Yet he's there. So. This was a treat. (A side note: I don't mind when the Significant Other comes along. I don't like it when it's assumed he or she will be. Y'know?)
  4. Then I overdid it with the volunteering this weekend. Probably to make up for the fact that I'm going away the end of this week and through Thanksgiving and won't be able to do it then: Spent Saturday at the African Art museum with my new "museum mentee," Grace. She and her twin sister Anita (who I thought was "Antoinette" all day, God knows why) were part of the Girl's Club of the Lower East Side, and about 15 girls were paired up with 15 mentors; once a month we'll be going to a different museum and having lunch. She's a pretty young 11 year old, with incredible eyelashes. She's "two minutes" younger than her sister, and they turn 12 in January. After the museum (they got a tour and then painted African masks to take home) and lunch I was wiped (again -- must come from being old) but Anita's mentor, Catherine, wanted to take her to get some dessert at the Spring Street Bakery, so since I didn't feel like being a heel, I went along. We got them cake and I had a peanut butter cookie ... which turned out to be the best damn one I've had in years. The cake slices were the size of your head. And they had red velvet cake! That lovely southern dish ... red cake. Yummy. That is one dangerous place, and on top of Serendipity ... bad, bad, bad. Sunday, that is, today, I spent the afternoon teaching a little girl (Alexis, age 7, incredible red hair) to swim as part of another group. She was scared to put her head under so I tried to show her how to blow bubbles. During free play I taught her "car," the game my brother and I spent hours doing at the pool -- you face each other and hold hands, I, as the car, go into a crouch and my brother (or, Alexis, in this case) would rest his (or her) feet on my knees, and "drive" me around. Hours of fun and games. We crashed a couple of times. Alexis isn't a good driver yet.
  5. So, did I mention, I'm tired?
  6. However, I did teach myself how to finally make links without having those little lines under them. I'm so proud of myself!
  7. Two months to today, we had the World Trade Center. It's still smoking. On TV, they say there are sections that are still 1100 degrees. The workmen's boots melt in hours.
  8. On the good side of things, it looks as if my Buddie may not have lung cancer after all. Of course, it still doesn't explain the thing on her lung.
  9. The next time I write, I will be 32. Crap. Well, so what.