Monday, February 4, 2008

Ritual Covet Tactics

New York was fantastic, just what I needed, and what I'll need on a continual basis. I'm going back every chance I get.

My visit actually put me in a good mood, though how long that'll last I've no idea, now that I'm back in the land of the pale, large and slow. To say that living in the Midwest has eaten away at my psyche and spirit would be a light, diverting remark. Frankly, I can't stand it. The upside, however, is that with the book and other projects coming up, I'll be able to travel more -- nothing lavish or regal, mind you, as I still live on blue collar wages. But hanging out in person with smart, creative people does a body good. You can't beat that one-on-one contact.

Okay, Mr. Sunshine, surely there's something sticking in your craw, yes?

Always. I still get mail from Obama supporters telling me how wrong and twisted my takes are on their hero. Won't I be surprised and embarrassed when President Saint remakes the national landscape and brings some of that audacious hope to We The Spectators. To quote a sage military historian and booster, bring it on. The Saint couldn't do worse than Bush, though if elected, he's gonna have a few hundred pounds of blood-soaked shit dumped on him. And that's only the country falling apart and spiraling into ruin. The Saint will also have to face the reactionary chorus, which will use his, er, um, "pigment" to full, poisonous advantage. There are some pretty fucked up white people on this plantation, and seeing one of the house servants rise to executive power won't lighten their collective demeanor, "color blind" postures notwithstanding. Should be a diseased ride all around. But let's see if the Saint can move beyond Clinton Time. That duo has countless more throats to slit before the final bell.

Walking down upper Broadway the other night, I kept running into Obama supporters, waving their placards, chanting the Saint's name at passersby. At one corner they were really obnoxious, demanding that I vote for Obama in Tuesday's primary, which of course I can't, and wouldn't if I could. Their tone was nearly Moonie-like: "Have you heard the Good News, brother?" I smiled and pretended I was deaf, improvising a few hand gestures for effect, though not the hand gesture I really wanted to make. No problem. There'll be plenty of time for that.

I wish I could've stayed in the city one more day to watch the Giants' game in a cozy bar. It must've been crazy last night after the Giants pulled off that glorious upset. I could almost hear it in my Michigan living room. Of course, it could've been the 23 other voices in my swirling head. Tough to tell sometimes.