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Tuesday, Sept. 17, 2002 / 11:40 a.m. ~Rolling Stones Or Yet Another Anti-War Demonstration, Ho Hum, Which Would YOU Choose?~ Here�s what I want to know� does it have to be so fucking cold in here?! And does it have to blow right in my face and give me a sore throat? While we�re at it (are we?), does it have to be so bright in here? No one needs this much light, not even surgeons. It�s just wrong. What I said was this, my tongue firmly planted in my cheek: �Hi, I�m two minutes late and I am SOOOO sorry!�, and she had that �I may only be 25, but I am your Supervisor and I can make or break you� look on her face. So I joked, �Um, really I�m joking, I mean it�s only 2 minutes, but there was a wreck right off the exit ramp, two police cars, fire rescue, ambulance��. Not that I was joking about the wreck, but the two minutes. Once or twice a year I am late. Two fucking minutes. And she looked like she was going to write it down in my �permanent file� immediately. The wreck? Stupid fucking idiots in this town cannot drive. Yield, motherfuckers! Idiots. Sorry, I have no sympathy. I know that intersection well, I drive it twice a day every day five days a week. Yield. Okay? Okay. And see what you did? You not only fucked yourself up, fucked up your insurance, but you fucked up everyone else who was trying to get to work on time. Like me. Two minutes. Aaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeeee! Hey, look at this, my left arm can stay leaning on the arm rest, but the right one is not, the right one moves all over the place, the right thumb hits the space bar for me, and the backspace key every time I make an error. Fascinating. It�s first thing. It�s 9:20 a.m. It�s quiet. Laverne is on a personal call and it�s silent but for her heavy New Yawk accent. And my typing. I have Patti Smith�s �Horses� and Cat Stevens� �Footsteps In the Dark � Greatest Hits Volume Two� to listen to. I was singing �Gloria� in the car on the way here (remember there is no music in the car), before I had to take the detour because of the idiots getting loaded on to stretchers. �Oh, you look so goooooood! Oh, you look so fiiiiiiiiiiine!�, and �Jesus died for somebody�s sins, but not mine� � best opening line ever. Patti is so cool. Guess what I realized this morning while making my coffee? No, guess. Okay, I�ll tell you. I bought a ticket to see the Rolling Stones. October 26th. Guess what else is on the 26th? Unh huh, that�s right, the next March on Washington. Yeah, the real Anti-War Demonstration. The one that may actually be noticed. The one that may not be futile, because George needs to see how many Americans don�t want this war. Dammit. I didn�t know if I was going to go, but Dianne is already organizing, as she does, it�s what she does. She�s been marching, demonstrating, leafletting since 1968. Dammit. I wasn�t sure. Now my decision is made. No regrets, but I find I�m feeling guilty as hell. Priorities, man, woman�s got to have her priorities. I just didn�t think I could �get on the bus� again, literally or figuratively. It�s hard, especially when you�re old like I am. Sleeping on a bus, getting off, marching, getting back on, sleeping. There�s the weekend. Gone. Poof. And it feels so futile, every single time. Bush is never even in D.C. when we do it. It never makes the news, it�s a blip. But this time?? You just watch, because I won�t be there� it will be HUGE! (Plus, you know what? There are MEN at these demonstrations/marches, young, old, middling, and they�re the best of their breed, they�re compassionate, passionate, outspoken, liberal, intelligent, educated, and quite often very attractive, and it just would not be good for me to form yet another crush on some unattainable man species, nor to appear attractive to yet another 60 year old, like Skipper. It would not do. Not that this is a good excuse AT ALL not to go, but we already know I�m not going so anything to make me feel better about that is necessary.) I just put Patti on. Oh yeah! �The words are just rules and regulations to me�� You know I saw her a few months ago, when was that? March? At the Ralph Nader thing. Hah, the Ralph �happening�. Fuck, I can�t believe I�m not going to Washington. It�s sinking in. Suddenly all my energy is gone, I paused for a moment, listening to Patti, feeling the cold air on my face, trying to work its way under my glasses, and I felt drained, like it took all my energy just to get to this place, this portion of the program. �G-L-O-OR-I-A!!� I had something else, pressing, but I can�t remember now. I made an intense potato salad last night. It has everything in it, everything I had on hand. The last of the bell peppers, orange and green, red onion, green onion, celery, hardboiled eggs (4!), black olives, bacon (!)� I think that�s everything. Oh, and potatoes. Yukon Gold. I used olive oil, some lemon juice, and a dollop of mayo to hold it all together, lots of seasonings, of course. I took a spoonful when I was done, and I could hardly stop eating it! Good stuff. I�ll eat it for lunch, no doubt, and probably dinner too, as I made a copious amount, a plethora of potato salad, but I�ll have nasty onion breath as a result. Watch out. Don�t even try to kiss me, you won�t be pleased. I�m loopy, saucy, sassy. I�d better chill out and read a bit whilst I wait for the calls to come in. Sit and look out the windows at the gray. The rain which will surely fall at any moment. Cost of the War in Iraq
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