I haven’t known what to say. I still don’t! And I don’t feel like making confessions about how weepy I was, and how for the next week I got a little teary at nearly every newspaper article or editorial I came across. I still have the New York Times from Nov. 5 sitting on my desk, and every now and then I glance over to see OBAMA written in capslock across the top because sometimes I can’t believe it really happened.
Now when I see the Obama merch. in Union Square, my up-chuck reflex doesn’t assert itself nearly at all! It’s a welcome change, believe me. I cannot wait to see the puppy, and I’m going to stay with Deedi for the inauguration (people are renting their apartments for $2,000/night on Craigslist, but she’s letting me stay in hers for FREE; the city expects 1 million (ONE MILLION) pilgrims), and I’m totally throwing a Bye-Bye Bush party, because it will feel ALMOST as good to see the back of his head as it will to see his successor raise his right hand.
You think I’m gushing now? You should’ve talked to me last Wednesday. Hoo boy.
Now that that dastardly election is over, I can turn my attention to more important things, like the holidays. It’s starting to feel more winterish than autumnal, that’s for sure. The clock tower lights up before I leave work now, and yesterday morning when I went hunting through Leah’s closet for my winter coat, I discovered that I left it in NJ for the summer. It’s been a shivery couple of days.
In these trying times, with assembly lines slowing down, the stock market doing its bipolar thing, and nary a winter coat to be seen, I have just one piece of advice to offer: whatever you do, please don't go see 'Synecdoche, New York.' Debilitatingly sad. Mesmerizing, but so sad. Completely interesting and even sometimes funny despite all the blood and pustules and ageing, but horribly, unredemptively sad. It made me want to sit in a dark room all alone and never do anything ever again. When I got out of the theater and the Knishery was closed, I almost sat down on the sidewalk and gave up. It's a heavy one.
But that was Wednesday. This is Friday, and tonight I'm meeting Sylvie, whom I haven't seen since December 2005 in Bath, England. If you feel Brooklyn quake around 7 p.m. this evening, you'll know we've reunited.
Countdown to Paris: 21 jours
- arms (1)
- Betsy Ross' crooked house (1)
- cute nose (1)
- dance party (1)
- matching pink (1)
- my desk (1)
- Paris (1)
- picnic (1)
- poisonous tomatoes (1)
- seasonal delights (1)
- the coolest kid ever. (1)
- the view(s) (1)
- Think it's a commentary on our current economic bugger-up? (1)
- this is embarrassing (1)
- Turk (1)