I tend to wander when I go somewhere new. Poking things, touching things that shouldn't be touched, asking questions about everything, sitting down where no one should sit. Once I saw a six-fingered man and I followed him for blocks. Is he a prodigal typist? Does he play the harp? Where does he buy gloves?
Then I get in conversations with strangers, long ones, about the most pointless shit ever, like the personal preference of ladders and step stools (this old man in Germany was carrying a ladder, and "ladder" auf Deutsch is "Strichleiter," and I wanted to use my mad German skillz, so I walked up to him and said, "Ihre Strichleiter ist schwach" because I thought that meant "your ladder is sturdy" but it means "your ladder is limp" and he laughed and corrected me and then we spoke in English, because my German is awful, and we talked about ladders for awhile, and he told me about how he was heading over to this elementary school to fix some windows. This elementary school happened to be directly next to some Nazi bunkers that had been converted into a torture museum and haunted house, and me, Muffy, and Sean totally went there and it kicked soooo much ass).
Tangent, what what. I'm so not even trying to be witty today.
Basically, I'm going on this New Orleans trip at the end of March for some volunteering and exploring. Never been there before.
So people, pretty pretty please, give me suggestions on neat shit to do there. Other than, you know, getting really really drunk.
...
PS: Fucking YES. WE. CAN.
...
Showing posts with label Obama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Obama. Show all posts
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Sometimes I Hit Things
So obviously, I took today off so I could sit inside all day and get good and fucking drunk and celebrate because BARACK
I can't even finish the sentence. Love it.
Not to go around, you know, poking fingers at the sunrise, but this kicks ass, it's historic, there are obvious conclusions about the impact of this thing that we are all drawing simultaneously, and I was there.
I was there, and it happened, and in some ways, that's enough. It will never be enough, but it's edging towards it, slowly, and I know it, because I was there, and I wanted to hit things.
The night was riotless, however, and I was actually kind of upset, because I think everyone was getting pissed off at me since all I wanted to do was smash something. This is how I show joy, man. It was like fucking House of Pain of up in there, with idiots jumping around, wildebeast stampedes and hugging and screaming crying laughing and I don't think I've ever seen more high-fives in my fucking life.
"I just want to fucking shake something. HARD."
Schmee, being down for anything, turned towards me. "DO IT."
So I grabbed her shoulders and shook the crap out of her. Then I slapped Phil, and punched MoLinder, and poked the Random Guy That Gyna Knew Named Travis real hard and apologized because I could not believe it, but I knew it, and I could not believe it. And everyone was getting very frustrated with my aggression. So I bit CrazyLiz on the bicep, just because she told me not to. Sometimes, I regress.
Then there were speeches, and then there was Obama, and then there was silence. The audience collectively waited for him to speak, and pause, to give us the go ahead to jubilize the fuck out of ourselves. We did not want to disrupt him, he deserved his words. It was the most intense, respectful, anxious, and most lemminglike night of my life.
And then when it was over, we all walked out, calmly. Elated. In complete shock. We were a colony, migrating amongst office buildings, I fucking work here and it's dead and it's singing with life. The city blocked off all of the streets for a three mile radius for our walk away from the park, giving us time for the yakking away and climbing on things, but only to cheer, never to fight. And then one person would scream, and then everyone would scream, and strangers were friends and friends were closer. When you accidentally ran into someone, you would laugh and apologize, and they would laugh and yell, "OBAMA" and you'd respond in kind, and then hug. Am I a fucking hippy now?
Throughout the night, the crowd cheered in unison, moved united, stood up and sat down as one. It was moving, and it was fucking scary.
I've always felt extremely uncomfortable in situations where everyone in the room was acting as one. I do not like the sameness of that mindset, of those actions. Freaks me out.
In all honesty, I'm far more comfortable amongst tension and anxiety, where emotions collide. Apparently, I'm high strung. I couldn't think straight at all, and I'm always thinking about something. That's a lie. Clearing my mind is rarely a problem. The dichotomy is strange: rarely rushed, always slow, and simultaneously cranking away at all times. When the brain can't work, the body overcompensates and works harder. I'm not used to this chill, this acceptance, this complacency. But it was wonderful.
In there, at the time, there was no conflict, and everyone was all getting along and smoking pot that we found on the ground (I know, I know) and it was like goddamn Bonnaroo up in Grant Park, but instead of doucheass jam bands and drum circles we had Wolf Blitzer and Anderson Cooper.
It was the first time I've ever understood how faith works. The stereotypical Evangelicals, who I've never been able to fully comprehend or identify with, have this profound, erratic understanding of belief that looks absolutely maniacal to outsiders, and now I understand.
Not that Obama is god, or in any way divine, or representing a higher power.
Do not misunderstand.
But honestly? This is the first time I've felt so inspired, so hopeful, so fucking relieved by someone who is, in all sense of the word, an authority. And I've never been accepting of that before. Ever. Not of an employer, or a manager, a judge or a cop or a political figure, or a teacher. It's not because I don't respect them. Recognizing another's dominant status? Never been good at that. But Barack gives the impression that he's none of those words, but aspires to learn what he can about all of them. The man is this eternal student, and there is nothing I have more respect for than the pursuit of knowledge in all forms.
He seems to hold a philosophy similar to mine: where there is no right and there is no wrong. There is you, and there is me, and we exist, and we are different. Our heads may clash, but that's how ideas, fuck it, worlds are born. Clash is good. He seems, at least for now, to hold this view not just of our country, but of the world.
He's completely human, and he's way better at it than I am.
And he's going to be The Boss.
And for the first time in my life, I am completely comfortable with that, and I can't think of anyone else better for the job.
How scary is that?
...
I can't even finish the sentence. Love it.
Not to go around, you know, poking fingers at the sunrise, but this kicks ass, it's historic, there are obvious conclusions about the impact of this thing that we are all drawing simultaneously, and I was there.
I was there, and it happened, and in some ways, that's enough. It will never be enough, but it's edging towards it, slowly, and I know it, because I was there, and I wanted to hit things.
The night was riotless, however, and I was actually kind of upset, because I think everyone was getting pissed off at me since all I wanted to do was smash something. This is how I show joy, man. It was like fucking House of Pain of up in there, with idiots jumping around, wildebeast stampedes and hugging and screaming crying laughing and I don't think I've ever seen more high-fives in my fucking life.
"I just want to fucking shake something. HARD."
Schmee, being down for anything, turned towards me. "DO IT."
So I grabbed her shoulders and shook the crap out of her. Then I slapped Phil, and punched MoLinder, and poked the Random Guy That Gyna Knew Named Travis real hard and apologized because I could not believe it, but I knew it, and I could not believe it. And everyone was getting very frustrated with my aggression. So I bit CrazyLiz on the bicep, just because she told me not to. Sometimes, I regress.
Then there were speeches, and then there was Obama, and then there was silence. The audience collectively waited for him to speak, and pause, to give us the go ahead to jubilize the fuck out of ourselves. We did not want to disrupt him, he deserved his words. It was the most intense, respectful, anxious, and most lemminglike night of my life.
And then when it was over, we all walked out, calmly. Elated. In complete shock. We were a colony, migrating amongst office buildings, I fucking work here and it's dead and it's singing with life. The city blocked off all of the streets for a three mile radius for our walk away from the park, giving us time for the yakking away and climbing on things, but only to cheer, never to fight. And then one person would scream, and then everyone would scream, and strangers were friends and friends were closer. When you accidentally ran into someone, you would laugh and apologize, and they would laugh and yell, "OBAMA" and you'd respond in kind, and then hug. Am I a fucking hippy now?
Throughout the night, the crowd cheered in unison, moved united, stood up and sat down as one. It was moving, and it was fucking scary.
I've always felt extremely uncomfortable in situations where everyone in the room was acting as one. I do not like the sameness of that mindset, of those actions. Freaks me out.
In all honesty, I'm far more comfortable amongst tension and anxiety, where emotions collide. Apparently, I'm high strung. I couldn't think straight at all, and I'm always thinking about something. That's a lie. Clearing my mind is rarely a problem. The dichotomy is strange: rarely rushed, always slow, and simultaneously cranking away at all times. When the brain can't work, the body overcompensates and works harder. I'm not used to this chill, this acceptance, this complacency. But it was wonderful.
In there, at the time, there was no conflict, and everyone was all getting along and smoking pot that we found on the ground (I know, I know) and it was like goddamn Bonnaroo up in Grant Park, but instead of doucheass jam bands and drum circles we had Wolf Blitzer and Anderson Cooper.
It was the first time I've ever understood how faith works. The stereotypical Evangelicals, who I've never been able to fully comprehend or identify with, have this profound, erratic understanding of belief that looks absolutely maniacal to outsiders, and now I understand.
Not that Obama is god, or in any way divine, or representing a higher power.
Do not misunderstand.
But honestly? This is the first time I've felt so inspired, so hopeful, so fucking relieved by someone who is, in all sense of the word, an authority. And I've never been accepting of that before. Ever. Not of an employer, or a manager, a judge or a cop or a political figure, or a teacher. It's not because I don't respect them. Recognizing another's dominant status? Never been good at that. But Barack gives the impression that he's none of those words, but aspires to learn what he can about all of them. The man is this eternal student, and there is nothing I have more respect for than the pursuit of knowledge in all forms.
He seems to hold a philosophy similar to mine: where there is no right and there is no wrong. There is you, and there is me, and we exist, and we are different. Our heads may clash, but that's how ideas, fuck it, worlds are born. Clash is good. He seems, at least for now, to hold this view not just of our country, but of the world.
He's completely human, and he's way better at it than I am.
And he's going to be The Boss.
And for the first time in my life, I am completely comfortable with that, and I can't think of anyone else better for the job.
How scary is that?
...
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Shepherd
So The Obama is getting a dog. I hope it's not a yippy ass little shit dog, because then I'll lose like fifty percent of my respect for him.
(But I love him.)
I make awesome drinks, seriously.
Shelter dogs for Obama. I'm starting a website. I can imagine him with like, a fucking Cairn Terrier or something. Ideally, Obama needs a shepherd, or some kind of sheepdog. To shepherd the week through the valley of darkness.
Happy Black Presidents Day. WHAT WHAT.
...
(But I love him.)
I make awesome drinks, seriously.
Shelter dogs for Obama. I'm starting a website. I can imagine him with like, a fucking Cairn Terrier or something. Ideally, Obama needs a shepherd, or some kind of sheepdog. To shepherd the week through the valley of darkness.
Happy Black Presidents Day. WHAT WHAT.
...
Infamy
If I were Jessica Yellin, and I had the opportunity to be represented holographically on the CNN battlestage, I would feel obligated to make, at the very least, four hundred and seventy-two Star Wars references.
That was bullshit.
Holograms, dude. HOLOGRAMS.
Drinking today.
...
That was bullshit.
Holograms, dude. HOLOGRAMS.
Drinking today.
...
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I Feel Like Batman
Today I fucking dominated the entire industry of voting. Woke up at seven and made bloody marys for MoLinder and myself and we sat there and worked up our buzz before we worked those voting booths like the Hamburgler on a quarter-pounder. With cheese.
I schooled that vodka so hard. Russia can bite me. I fucking voted today. I'm a goddamn steel-laced vigilante, protecting the streets of Chicago. They're going to make me Queen of Everything. Can you smell the imperialism in the air?
I feel like Batman. Should have worn a belt today. I'm sure I can turn this cardigan into a sweet cape or something.
Breakfast fucking ruled too. Tyrannized the crap out of an English muffin, because fuck you, England. No taxation without representation.
Oh, and I wrote in Alexander Hamilton for "Most Likely to Jeopardize Your Marriage" and "Most Provocative Eyebrows." No sticker, because Cook County is full of cheap bastards, but I scotch-taped that ballot receipt on because I am patriotic as fuck. Then I stole a sticker from my co-worker and put that shit on, because she stuck it on her purse, and I'm pretty sure "I voted" stickers totally deserve boob action.
Today is a good day.
...
I schooled that vodka so hard. Russia can bite me. I fucking voted today. I'm a goddamn steel-laced vigilante, protecting the streets of Chicago. They're going to make me Queen of Everything. Can you smell the imperialism in the air?
I feel like Batman. Should have worn a belt today. I'm sure I can turn this cardigan into a sweet cape or something.
Breakfast fucking ruled too. Tyrannized the crap out of an English muffin, because fuck you, England. No taxation without representation.
Oh, and I wrote in Alexander Hamilton for "Most Likely to Jeopardize Your Marriage" and "Most Provocative Eyebrows." No sticker, because Cook County is full of cheap bastards, but I scotch-taped that ballot receipt on because I am patriotic as fuck. Then I stole a sticker from my co-worker and put that shit on, because she stuck it on her purse, and I'm pretty sure "I voted" stickers totally deserve boob action.
Today is a good day.
...
Monday, October 27, 2008
Rally
Apparently, some library in Elgin is doing this Sex Pants Hamilton exhibit in December, and I am sooooo going, because well, we all know I have a soft spot for the Ham. The only thing that could make the Ham even cooler would be if Jules Archer did a biography, a la They Made a Revolution! 1776 and Rage In the Streets: Mob Violence and that Trotsky bio that I couldn't get through at all.
Archer taught me how to properly exercise my right to throw a shit fit, which is excellent preparation for the election, since if Obama loses, so does your face.
Speaking of getting drunk, on November 5th I'm arranging a preemptive sick day, since I'm totally going to the Obama rally on election night. I figure, if he wins, Chicago will riot, and if he loses, Chicago will fucking riot. Either way, I'm gonna punch someone in the ear. And I plan on pointing my finger and laughing.
If anyone else is going, (by that I mean MoLinder and Gyna, because you're the only two I can think of who'll definitely be there instead of giving me some bullshit about, "Well, I really want to go, but it's so cold and far" - fuck you, this is history, let's vandalize it. We can have "where were you the night Obama fucking worked it" stories, and ours will be the best. Oh, and I am awesome at using parentheses) then I'll see you there.
On a completely different subject, it's freezing outside right now, and I'm in love with the chill.
...
Archer taught me how to properly exercise my right to throw a shit fit, which is excellent preparation for the election, since if Obama loses, so does your face.
Speaking of getting drunk, on November 5th I'm arranging a preemptive sick day, since I'm totally going to the Obama rally on election night. I figure, if he wins, Chicago will riot, and if he loses, Chicago will fucking riot. Either way, I'm gonna punch someone in the ear. And I plan on pointing my finger and laughing.
If anyone else is going, (by that I mean MoLinder and Gyna, because you're the only two I can think of who'll definitely be there instead of giving me some bullshit about, "Well, I really want to go, but it's so cold and far" - fuck you, this is history, let's vandalize it. We can have "where were you the night Obama fucking worked it" stories, and ours will be the best. Oh, and I am awesome at using parentheses) then I'll see you there.
On a completely different subject, it's freezing outside right now, and I'm in love with the chill.
...
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The Silver Fox
As many of you know, I have a crush on Wesley Clark. It's been seven years now.
There, I said it. Dude's hot and he's got a great voice. A progressive army man? Just the thought of it's attractive. Like Willem Dafoe in Platoon. He's the Silver Fox. He speaks four languages. He has four stars. He's the military shiznit, so we can stick it to McCain, too, who can't play the navy background as much when a fucking four-star General is in Obama's corner. And he should be in Obama's corner as VP.
But here are my Obama/Clark dilemmas:
1. Will straight women and gay men be able to focus on politics at all if our country is run by two men who are positively dreamy? Will gay women and straight men? Clark's babeness transcends gender. Presidential porn fantasies in the oval office will skyrocket. The entire planet will be mesmerized by our ability to breed beautiful leaders.
2. Clark endorsed Hillary at the beginning...bad call, General. But Bill's his BFF, so I guess it's okay. It could even be argued that without Bill, Clark may never have hit four stars.
3. For a military dog, Clark has a long history of sliding around authority and doing whatever the hell he wants. So he's not good at being second-in-command. How about we make him president? Yeah.
One thing is for sure, Obama needs him an old white guy who's got a crapload of experience and knows about the military for a running mate. No way is the country is going to vote for a Barack/Hillary ticket after all the political cannibalism over the past couple months. They've worked hard to destroy and discredit each other, and the two of them teaming up just feels wrong.
Xtine the Roommate is spreading the love for Jim Webb, the guy from Virginia who looks like a cross between Dwight Schrute and Joss Whedon, was decorated in Vietnam, and is all about the veterans. He used to be a republican, and he recently switched over to the good side. And he's a gingery Irishman who's married to an Asian, so that ticket's like democratic gold for white hipster guys who love Asian women.
One guy I really like is Russ Feingold. He's got more cojones than Mexico. And he looks like your dad, or the smiley suburban guy who waves from behind a white picket fence wearing a pale yellow polo with loafers and shoulder sweater while he majestically waters the lawn.
But what you don't know about Smiley Suburban Dad Guy is that he will stand up for shit at PTA meetings when no one else dares, he's the guy who reads things before he signs them, and most of all, understands their full meaning: he's the only senator to oppose the Patriot Act. He's Lefty the Liberal, and he's gutsier than most. Unfortunately, no military background. Good man, friend to Jews and lover of cheese: Russ Feingold for president 2012.
Obama, advice: go with the Silver Fox.
...
There, I said it. Dude's hot and he's got a great voice. A progressive army man? Just the thought of it's attractive. Like Willem Dafoe in Platoon. He's the Silver Fox. He speaks four languages. He has four stars. He's the military shiznit, so we can stick it to McCain, too, who can't play the navy background as much when a fucking four-star General is in Obama's corner. And he should be in Obama's corner as VP.
But here are my Obama/Clark dilemmas:
1. Will straight women and gay men be able to focus on politics at all if our country is run by two men who are positively dreamy? Will gay women and straight men? Clark's babeness transcends gender. Presidential porn fantasies in the oval office will skyrocket. The entire planet will be mesmerized by our ability to breed beautiful leaders.
2. Clark endorsed Hillary at the beginning...bad call, General. But Bill's his BFF, so I guess it's okay. It could even be argued that without Bill, Clark may never have hit four stars.
3. For a military dog, Clark has a long history of sliding around authority and doing whatever the hell he wants. So he's not good at being second-in-command. How about we make him president? Yeah.
One thing is for sure, Obama needs him an old white guy who's got a crapload of experience and knows about the military for a running mate. No way is the country is going to vote for a Barack/Hillary ticket after all the political cannibalism over the past couple months. They've worked hard to destroy and discredit each other, and the two of them teaming up just feels wrong.
Xtine the Roommate is spreading the love for Jim Webb, the guy from Virginia who looks like a cross between Dwight Schrute and Joss Whedon, was decorated in Vietnam, and is all about the veterans. He used to be a republican, and he recently switched over to the good side. And he's a gingery Irishman who's married to an Asian, so that ticket's like democratic gold for white hipster guys who love Asian women.
One guy I really like is Russ Feingold. He's got more cojones than Mexico. And he looks like your dad, or the smiley suburban guy who waves from behind a white picket fence wearing a pale yellow polo with loafers and shoulder sweater while he majestically waters the lawn.
But what you don't know about Smiley Suburban Dad Guy is that he will stand up for shit at PTA meetings when no one else dares, he's the guy who reads things before he signs them, and most of all, understands their full meaning: he's the only senator to oppose the Patriot Act. He's Lefty the Liberal, and he's gutsier than most. Unfortunately, no military background. Good man, friend to Jews and lover of cheese: Russ Feingold for president 2012.
Obama, advice: go with the Silver Fox.
...
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