I realize I haven't really written anything worth reading in a long time. My inspiration comes in flashes and I guess I haven't been struck by lightning in a while.
Lately my life fits into a tidy little box. There are no messy edges, no carelessness.
There's nothing to write about.
And yet here I am still struggling to put words to my humdrum. Passion to my plaintive. I don't know what moves me to do this. I don't know why my fingers always find the keys.
I am inspired by a lot of things.
Today it was a little girl in red mittens. A sign in a living room window. The wandering man outside the Damen St. Liquor Store, pushing a heaving cart of bulging garbage bags.
I know its unwise of me to envy his messy edges, but I do anyway.
The thing is my inspiration is fleeting. It never sticks. I subsist in it for as long as I can, backstroking happily through waves of insight and revelation and then nothing. Poof. Like a dream, it's gone.
I wake to find myself staring at that homeless man's face, feeling nothing as the woman in the car behind me begins honking her horn.
And all at once, I'm just a girl in a car at a stop sign.
“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around.”
Ah, Thanksgiving in the suburbs. Can’t wait. Once again, for those who don't already know, here’s how it will go down.
The week of Thanksgiving will come around and my Mom will already be going nuts with things she has to do; as if this scene wasn’t at all familiar to her from past year's experience. She’ll forget where she put the “good” gravy boats and force my Dad into manual labor up in the attic where it is constantly 400°, even in the dead of winter. My Dad will exhume himself from the attic a shell of man and thirty pounds lighter from sweating, empty-handed. My Mom will have found the “good” gravy boats five minutes after she sent my Dad into the attic, but will neglect to tell him this because something is on fire in the kitchen.
Once the smoke clears, it’s Black Wednesday in Palatine. This is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving where everyone in the suburbs goes out because no one has to work in the morning. Though most of us claim we are over traditions and are too mature to follow the crowd, eventually we’ll all end up at Durty Nellie’s. Usually you have to wait in line for like an hour to get into this bar that none of the people actually in line would ever hang out in on a regular Wednesday night. Then you pay an absurd cover charge just to see all the people you hated in high school come out of the woodwork. People fly in for this. People plan their family vacations around it. But it's worth it to see that the guy who turned you down for Homecoming is now a fat, unemployed alcoholic and fortunately for you, the girl he took instead of you is not there because she got pregnant after high school and is working the night shift at Kmart to support her three illegitimate children.
Once inside the bar, you’re obviously already ridiculously drunk because you HAVE to be drunk in order to have that same artificial conversation with three hundred people you haven’t seen in five or six years. It goes something like this:
“Hey, what’s up?”*Awkward hug* “Wow, I haven’t seen YOU in forever. What are you doing these days?” *Stock answer* “No way, that’s great!” “Well, I gotta get another beer, are you going to be here for a while?” *Turn and leave, no intentions of coming back*
That is, unless you run into the person who you had an intensely obsessive crush on in high school and is now incredibly HOT. Then, it’s okay to "accidentally" stumble drunkenly into them, tell them how cute you thought they were in high school and lick their face. Or…so I’ve heard. I’m not talking from personal experience, of course.
After Nellie’s closes down and enough people are trampled into the mud (it always rains) in that absurdly small tent, everyone heads over to the Slice (pronounced Slee-chay) for more of the same except in an even smaller bar packed with even more people, shoved up next to you, reeking of booze. There, either someone gets into a fight or shows their boobs and you realize, god damn, is it really 4:30 a.m. because you forgot that you are big time now with your Big Ten degree, corporate job and your new Honda Accord and you can’t afford to be hanging out with these people who you never really liked anyway because you actually have to be productive during the week. So you find a ride home in a police car or take a cab and wake up the next morning, groggy and hung over, Taco Bell wrappers strewn across your bedroom floor and wonder why in the hell you thought it was a good idea to lick that guy’s face.
You shower, down a quart of orange juice, sack up, drag yourself upstairs from your parent's basement where you stuff your face with assorted meats and baked goods until you pass out on the living room floor to the sound of your brother, who has had one too many Labatt Blues, shouting about the Bears losing again on Thanksgiving. Good times.
New Rule: Never give up hope! I never thought it would happen. You never thought it would happen. But you'll be able to tell your grandkids that in November of 2008, the impossible did happen: Guns N' Roses released "Chinese Democracy"!
New Rule: As his first official act, Barack Obama must raise Joe the Plumber's taxes. I'm not saying he should raise all middle-class taxes. Just Joe. Congratulations, plumber's helper, you're in a tax bracket of one. Complete with your very own tax form, the 1040FU.
New Rule: In order to fight terrorism, the Obama Administration must first concentrate on getting the Saudis laid. This is the recent "Most Beautiful Goat" competition--in Riyadh. I'm not making this up. And, yes, those are Saudis taking pictures of the winning goat's ass. Someone help these people. Sexual repression makes people believe in all sorts of crazy shit. [slide shown of Morman sister wives]
New Rule: Don't pretend Twinkies are healthy now. Just because you can get the 100-calorie size. Here's the miracle: it's smaller. And here's how to make your own at home: cut an old Twinkie in half. And here's how to make it healthy: throw both halves in the toilet and eat a carrot.
New Rule: The guy in AC/DC has to stop wearing the schoolboy outfit. He's 53 years old. This look doesn't say, "I'm on a Highway to Hell." It says, "I'm a registered sex offender." Also, you have to sell your new record someplace other than Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart's are too crowded. I can't find anything. And the old greeter at the front door creeps me out. [slide shown of John McCain as Wal-Mart greeter]
And finally, New Rule: Now that you've lost, Republicans have to agree not to waste everyone's time spending the next four years screaming for investigations of Barack Obama over made-up bullshit. Let's not kid ourselves. The hardcore Republican base is like a stalker; rejection just makes them crazier. You think Matt Drudge was a vindictive prick before? His headline Wednesday morning was, "Senior Citizen and Woman Beaten by Black Man." You see, because McCain is old and then there was the woman, and Obama is a black man. And wait till you see Ann Coulter's new book, How to Field Dress a Liberal.
You know, there's loyal opposition and then there's just opposition. Let's not do the '90s again, except for the part where we have peace and prosperity. You know, there was an entire industry back then dedicated to making Bill Clinton's life miserable over expensive haircuts and old land deals and the Lincoln Bedroom and getting blown. But this ain't the '90s. We've got two wars, a melting planet, and the only thing keeping the economy from total collapse is Sarah Palin shopping sprees.
So, you know what phrase I don't want to hear used frivolously for the next four years whenever Barack Obama forgets to put the kids in the car seat? "Disrespect for the rule of law." Dick Cheney ordered prisoners tortured by name. That ship has sailed.
I don't want to hear Sean Hannity say that, "Barack Obama announced that his daughters would be getting a puppy. A puppy from where? Probably a Chihuahua that came in from Mexico illegally. And how do we know this isn't a dog that pals around with terriers?"
You know, when Obama starts a pre-emptive war, and then f*cks it up, and makes torture our official policy and outs a CIA agent, and purges U.S. Attorneys, and tries to put his cleaning lady on the Supreme Court--and doesn't act on global warming, and appoints as the head of FEMA an ex-dildo salesman who was his college roommate--you know, that kind of stuff, believe me, I'll be with you. But, until then, I don't want to see Republicans freaking out if Obama isn't singing the National Anthem loud enough, or they find out he gets his suits made in France.
If he puts a moon roof in the presidential limo, he's not making himself Fuhrer; he's just trying to get the smell of stupidity out of the seats.
And, mostly, I don't want to hear about ACORN. Your guy lost by eight million votes. Just because you don't know any black people doesn't mean they don't exist.
So, that's it. No special prosecutors, no trumped up investigations. If Republicans really want to look into something for the next four years, my suggestion: try a mirror.
When I think of the events that occurred on Tuesday, my first reaction is to attempt to cage the disbelief running circles in my head. How do I wrap my head around this thing? Did it really happen?
I find myself instinctively flipping my TV to CNN in moments of quiet at home. When I walk past the newspaper stands on the way to my car in the morning, their curious emptiness turns the corners of my mouth up into a wide smile. The images pervade. The thought of this new moment in history consumes me.
Let me tell you what I have learned from all of this. While my heart aches over the last eight years in our country, I am grateful for the clarity it has brought in its wake. Clarity so strong, it compelled a country to change.
I have never been more proud to be an American, on Tuesday, today, tomorrow. The pride I feel as that overwhelms me.
The way our nation has come together and the speed of our unity amazes me. It gives me faith in humanity and restores my trust in democracy. The faceless masses across the USA and around the world have united. They need no faces, they have one, and in it is the proud reflection of the United States -- disabled, but determined.
The capacity I see for hope overwhelms me. It transcends race and ethnicity, wealth and poverty, cultural diversities and border lines. If apathy is the new poison, then hope is its antidote. Barack Obama knew before any of us that hope could change the world.
And as I stare into the open face of possibility this nation gives me reason to believe we've only just begun to fight.
So continue to let freedom ring America, trust in the fact that the rest of the world has heard us.
Congratulations to you and THANK YOU for all your hard work! I am proud to be an American living abroad - not an ex-pat! No longer will I be the ambassador of a country that I dont even understand - I can know hold my head high and say with pride that America has made the right decision - for its own people, and for the world.
I was sitting in a waiting room this morning at 9am today in a culturally-mixed area of West London - a woman walked in and pointed at the man behind the desk (she a west Londoner, in him I detected a slight African accent of type) and said "All I have to say is OBAMA", to which he said "It's not just history my friend, it's a new dawn".
These are the conversations happening in the most banal of locations in places which are typically considered unrelated to the election of a US president. But you see just how much this election has affected everyone, and injected everyone with hope.
There is more work to do of course, and I would hope that this spurs us all on to continue to make changes in our lives and how we consider our power as individuals and collectively. We are all a part of America, and when 75% of America gets out and votes, it is clear exactly who has been in the minority all this time - those who have dominated politics for the last 50,100, 200 years.
We brought about this change, each one of us...I am very proud of us all today.
I live in Chicago and in between purging my demons through my writing or at the corner bar, I live a very productive life as an events planner and creative. I think too much and talk too little. I dont ever really say what is on my mind, but my hand can write it faster than I can think it. I choose hope over despair, always. I am moody, messy and seamlessly emotional, but I keep a militarily clean room. My heart is cluttered with words that Ill never say, but I wear them silently on my sleeve. I want you to pick me instead of her, even though I would pick him instead of you. Short stories over books and poetry over short stories. I crave the immediate gratification of a good, short sentence, but am myself long winded. I am pro-choice but anti-decision. I like rock over roll. I am overconfident in crowds, but reticent in private moments. I feel that you should choose honest moments to bare your soul, but never soul baring moments to finally be honest. And consequently, that life is yours to reel in, one hand over another, heels in the dirt, but will always, always win the tug of war.
