4th of July

Aboard the Staten Island Ferry

Staten Island Yankees vs. Jamestown Jammers.  Jamestown?

Alice loved the mascots, Scooter and Red

Alice with Red.  She was enraptured and terrified

Highlights of the game: ice-cold plastic bottles of Bud Light on a hot evening.  Someone near us fielded a foul ball and gave it to Alice.  All of our neighbors were tickled to hear Alice cheer, sing, and yell "Charge!"  The game ran 12 innings, followed by fireworks.  At one point the mascot Scooter was squatting down trying to "lift" a "heavy" barbell and the sound guy let loose a loud brrrrip, prompting Alice to note, "Scooter tooted, like me!"  We hustled to catch the 11 pm ferry home.  Alice was quiet and thoughtful on the long subway ride back.  Bedtime for her at 12:30.  Cold showers late at night to break the heat and end the day.  Happy birthday America. 

San Diego Diary

Tuesday - On the first night in the hotel I ordered fish tacos in my room and drank the champagne L had waiting for me for Valentine's Day.  I watched "Teen Mom," immediately mystified by how television works on the West Coast.  Some things are shown at the same time as back east....others are not.  Throughout the trip I felt like the east coast was pinging all these news items and alerts to California -- important information about politics, the economy, stocks, Europe -- and it all seemed to lose its importance and meaning by the time it reached the west coast.  Who really cares?  You wake up early in California, the northeast corridor is already getting ready for lunch, and none of it really seems to matter.  Who the hell watches MSNBC in California?

Wednesday - After the conference ended for the day we drove out to La Jolla.  We were in a Suburban-style vehicle with seating for eight.  Rihanna ("We Found Love") was blasting in the speakers and I loved it.  Our driver was a little surly and wore an odd suit.  At one point we were struggling to do something -- unlatch a seatbelt, open a container -- and someone jokingly said, "How many master's degrees does it take to [complete this task]?"  Later, after we had gotten out, the driver said to us, "I have two master's degrees," and explained how he had been a successful businessman in his home country.  I felt bad that he had totally misread us.

We had dinner in La Jolla at a fancy and wonderful restaurant.  The most sophisticated meal I've had in a long time, including a couple of these rosemary-based cocktails:

"Sea Dew Collins"

Afterwards we walked down to where the road curved down by the surf.  It was pitch black and we couldn't see anything, just the roar of the waves, the artless barking of the sea lions, and the great black emptiness of the water.  I thought a lot about the only other time I've been to La Jolla -- on my first trip out west, in the spring break of 2001 (almost eleven years ago now) -- I was with a couple people I loved dearly then, one of whom is still my friend, the other lost to time -- but that was the first trip where I really traveled, saw the Pacific, drove hundreds of new miles.  That trip was a real lodestar for me and it was good to return here under completely different circumstances.

As we piled into the car to return home I said, "I need some Rihanna right now!  Give me some RiRi!"  And sure enough, at that moment the song I wanted to hear ("...In a Hopeless Place") came oomphing through the speakers. 

Night in La Jolla

Thursday - Dinner in Old Town San Diego, at Cafe Coyote (or Coyote Cafe).  We walked by the oldest brick structure in southern California, a regal building that had a large weeping tree of some kind on its property.  I moseyed around the sidewalks and felt completely disoriented.  I thought I was in New Orleans or something, but no... The randomness of this trip and my presence in southern California never really abated.

Friday - After the conference ended at noon on Friday I wasn't sure what to do with myself.  I wandered around the beautiful spacious suburban sprawl and investigated their version of a Chipotle.  It was full of men in their 30s and 40s in business casual attire.  Many people were sitting outside on the little plaza.  The interior was so spacious that I actually took up a whole booth by myself, just me and my food and my copy of The Atlantic with Barack Obama on it.  I felt like a real East Coast elitist asshole.  The food was great -- the steak tasted different, the guacamole was smoother, the chips were better.  Huh. 

I spent more time walking around the hotel area, doing work when I could, and then returned to sit by the pool for a while.  A new conference was launching in those final hours and I felt awkward remaining there.  Our time had passed.  At the airport I realized that I had waited in the same terminal a few years earlier with colleagues from the law firm, and I again thought about how much had changed since then.

Does California only exist as a fantasy, a mirror, a landmark on the horizon to notch the passing of time?  It sure seems that way. 

September 11th, ten years later

For the last couple of days I've been immersing myself in a lot of the immediate coverage that followed the terrorist attacks ten years ago.  It's hard not to watch the footage without a rock in my stomach.  The newscasters' fumbling narration in real time, the background whine of sirens that seemed so feeble in the face of such destruction. 

When I think about my life, I tend to believe that the Modern Era -- that is, adulthood -- began when I graduated college and moved to New York in 2002.  September 11th occurred during the first few weeks of my senior year at UVA.  My memories of that day are stark and clear, and many of the people with whom I experienced that day are still deeply involved in my life (most especially, my wife).  When I arrived in New York months later that experience was still burned onto the short-term memory of the city.  Every summer hordes of young people arrive in the city determined to start their lives, and I felt proud to be part of the first wave of new arrivals following the attacks.  Yet I also felt like an interloper -- someone who skips the funeral but attends the reception afterwards.

Living in the city has given me a new intimacy with the events of that day, a new understanding of the geography of grief.  I used to run by Ground Zero all the time when we lived downtown.  My wife's old workplace was near the scene of a major staging area for the first responders.  The same hospital where the victims were sent, where Cardinal Egan stood outside administering last rites to the dead and dying, is where my daughter was born.

Today L and I took Alice downtown to get out of the house and go eat at a burger joint from back home.  Impromptu memorials had been established all around the old neighborhood, in front of firehouses, along the chain-link fence where people have hung dozens of ceramic tiles commemorating that day.  On the subway we saw many law enforcement personnel in dress uniform.  We saw people who had come from the major memorial service, relatives of the victims, including someone who wore a badge identifying them as a reader of the names.  I felt frivolous sitting there in my shorts with my soda, frivolous and irreverent in the face of their grief and the tragedy this city -- now my city -- endured. 

And yet life goes on.  Just like ten years ago, this weekend felt like one of the last vanishing weekends of summer.  Today Alice enjoyed her french fries and milkshake, and she was smiling and chatty for her momma and daddy.  Events that were unthinkable ten years ago have somehow been folded into our understanding of ourselves and our home, and we all move forward, more or less, with an even keel.  Resilience and grief, change and memory, ever forward, ever forward.

Jury duty

I was on jury duty this week.  Unlike my first time as a juror, six years ago, this experience felt a lot more...coerced.  I felt like I had been conscripted into something unpleasant.  At every step of the way, people reminded us that it was our duty to be there, that it was an inconvenience, that we may be occupied for the next several weeks, that they would let us go as soon as possible but not yet, and that the fate of our democracy depended on our presence in the sad little waiting room.  It was like a hostage situation, but more principled.

I had two close brushes with juryhood.  The first case was an attempted assault.  Someone was accused of beating a Christmas tree vendor with a bicycle chain.  The second case was a murder and at attempted murder.  That trial would last several weeks.  The death penalty would not be an issue before us.  We were not to look up this case on the Internet.  There had been media attention before, and there would likely be more attention to come.  Can we handle that?

Well, I guess I could, probably, but it's not really a good time for me to spend a month as a juror.  Not when we're going to Spain and already got Alice a passport, a hellish process involving four post offices in two states.  When I made this excuse before the judge I felt very spineless and pathetic, whimpering my way out of jury service.  I was excused and sent to a different room upstairs where I got my letter stating that I was done with jury service until 2017, which so far is convenient for me.

Last week was exhausting, with graduation activities and jury duty.  This coming week I have two work retreats, and the slow transition into the summer season of the academic calendar.  I'm also trying to submit a story to a few publications/contests with a May 31 deadline, so that should keep me occupied too. 

Truth in advertising

We're watching Matt Lauer's interview with errant schoolboy/former president George W. Bush, where W. is hawking his new book, "Decision Points."  The hilarious part, aside from the inappropriate laughter, awkward smiles, and frowny faces, is that most of these decision points turned out to be...not so great: Invading Iraq under false pretenses!  A ten-year war in Afghanistan!  No Osama! "Mission Accomplished"!  Katrina!  The great recession!  Those decisions all worked out great, huh? 

You know what would have been a better name for W.'s book than "Decision Points"?  "Fuck Ups." 

Maybe for the paperback edition.

...Hello, 44

Such a sense of excitement in the air this morning -- pure electricity. I was sitting in a conference room with my colleagues, watching the proceedings and listening to the roar of the crowd from Rockefeller Plaza. After the speech most people filed out, but a few of us stayed to hear the poem and the benediction and the national anthem. During the national anthem I was a little surprised to find that all of us were standing.

As far as the speech goes, it wasn't as smooth or soaring as some of his others, but it was forceful and inspiring and realistic. He talked to us like adults. He didn't sugarcoat, but he reminded us of our aspirations. There were a few moments when I felt a lump in my throat -- not only at the words that were said, but at the faces in the crowd, in the fact that so many of our friends and countrymen wanted to endure the cold to witness this occasion. What a fortunate time to be alive. What a wonderful country we are blessed to live in.

I was thinking about how in some parts of the nation, people still keep photos of Bobby Kennedy or JFK or Martin Luther King, Jr. on the wall. I never understood why someone would put the image of a national leader, someone they had probably never even met, inside their home. Today, though, I think I do understand. I've never had as much respect and admiration for a president as I do today. He is an able leader and he is someone to emulate. President Obama: I am so thankful that he is at the helm.

Goodbye, 43...

Dear Mr. President Bush,

Well, thank God it's finally over, huh? I don't know who's more relieved, you or the rest of the country. I wanted to send you a brief note to wish you well and get a couple of things off my chest. But I won't say too much, because I don't want to get agitated and my mom doesn't like it when political discussions get heated.

Keep in mind that I write as someone who once supported you. I voted for you in 2000, and I even supported the war in Iraq. I wasn't totally on board with it at the time, but I trusted you and (perhaps more importantly) your office. By 2004 this trust was long gone, mind you, but there was a time it existed.

Like you I have a few "disappointments" with your administration. In addition, I have a few "things that make me angry" and "things that are so frustrating, so willfully misguided and cynical, that I don't know whether to cry bitter, bitter tears or just grit my teeth until my jaws ache."

My overall complaint about how everything happened, and this is an idea that to me encompasses the planning and execution of the war, the torture of prisoners, the signing statements, the aftermath of Katrina, the irresponsible tax cuts, the economic meltdown, the vilification of your political opponents, and the accumulation of unlawful power in the executive branch, is a sense of fundamental dishonesty. You never told us the truth about any of it. You were always trying to gloss over problems, to tell us that missions were accomplished and that we should go back to our shopping while the earth burned. As president you worked to appease your base (rich people, and maybe later on evangelicals) but you told us you were working for everyone. The reason that no one has paid attention to you in the last two years is that no one believes you. We don't trust you. You never gave us a reason to trust you.

You could have asked us to sacrifice after September 11th, and boy, we would have. We wanted to. Remember that telethon with all the celebrities, when the country spent a night weeping in front of the tv and opening our wallets, because it was the only thing we thought we could do? That should have been the tip of the iceberg. We were ready to change our lives, to strive for something bigger, and all we wanted was direction. We just needed you to say the word. But you said nothing.

So that's my beef with you. Also, one other small thing: you and your friends have spent the last month crowing about how you've kept us safe all this time. My question (and maybe this is more of a quibble) is, are you including September 11th in that statement, or what? Because you were president then, and you were receiving briefings with names like, "Oh Shit, Osama's Going to the Airport." Now, I am not blaming you for September 11th -- I am most definitely not -- but I am saying that I don't know if it's right to be bragging about how safe we are thanks to you, when September 11th remains such an open wound. I think about terrorism every time I go to work, riding the elevator to the 24th floor of my landmark building. Every night when I leave I thank God I made it out yet again. You may be leaving office, but the threat has not diminished.

That's all I should say, I guess. Despite everything I have moments of sympathy for you, and you seem like a nice person, until you start teasing reporters in jerky ways. Also, I have an abiding affection for Laura Bush, because she reminds me of a frumpier, more docile version of my mom. And, your daughters aren't bad looking. Now you get to go back to Texas and the country gets to begin a long process of repair. Thank God we've bottomed out.

Safe travels,

MKD

The New Yorker: "Reflection"

44

There was a moment last night, after they called it for Obama, President-Elect Barack Obama, when the news anchors wisely realized it was time to shut up and let the moment speak for itself. As the camera panned over thousands of people gathered in that park in Chicago, flags waving and people crying and cheering, as the crowds outside Rock Center jumped and clapped, as people wept, there was this sense of amazement -- disbelief that it really happened. In that moment I felt such a sense of happiness, relief, and pride. As a symbolic gesture, Obama's election, forged by a new coalition and encompassing an entirely new collection of states, is hard to top. He has entered the pantheon -- the Kennedys, the Kings, the modern American figures who transcend the ordinary to become heroes. That's big talk, I know, but last night it was hard to fight those sentiments.

His speech was characteristically beautiful. There was one part that I found especially compelling, that poignantly recalled Martin Luther King and reminded me of the long and exciting road ahead:

We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America -- I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you -- we as a people will get there.

He promised, and last night we believed him. Today is a great day to be an American; a great day to remember what America is and what it can be. Like the man said: we will get there.

The official endorsement: Vote Obama

The remarkable thing about this election is that there's a candidate I really respect and admire, unlike every other time, when it's been two vaguely repulsive figures. Back in 2000, Gore was too sanctimonious and Bush seemed like an amiable dunce. Go for the dunce! What could possibly go wrong? In 2004, I had recognized the error of my ways and was looking forward to voting for Howard Dean, who was like a "West Wing" fantasy come to life (plucky Northeastern governor comes to Washington) yet I ended up voting for John Kerry, who looked and acted like one of those dour talking trees in "The Wizard of Oz."

This time around, I hitched my star to Obama way back in April 2007, and boy, have I been pleased with how that turned out. From the stunning victory in Iowa to the soaring convention speech to his cool, professional demeanor in the debates against grumpy old Senator McCain, he and his campaign have had remarkably few missteps. Not only do I see Obama as an inspirational figure in America -- a symbol of progress and a bellwether of great things to come -- but McCain, for whom I voted with passion in the 2000 Virginia primary, has done a thorough job of losing my vote: The selection of Governor Palin by a man who promised "country first." The constant drumbeat that the city where I live and the region where I grew up is not "the real America." A wholehearted embrace of smear tactics and strategies designed to appeal to our worst impulses and fears. An acceptance of the right-wing ideologies that he fought so long against. And the introduction of Joe the Plumber to the national scene. Every time I read "Joe the Plumber" I hear it in the chirpy cadence of a parrot voice. Thanks a lot, John McCain.

So, in the spirit of these final few days, as everybody hunkers down and all the newspapers and magazines put their cards on the table in one last appeal for wisdom and clear judgment, here's my own, the first official presidential endorsement in the history of this blog.

Take it from your old pal Mike the Lawyer: vote Barack Obama for president.

Zombie

Get this: yesterday I worked all night. I went to work on Wednesday, expecting another normal day at work. Cut to the part in a movie where the hands of the clock keep spinning, yet I remained working at my desk. Outside it got dark out, and all the lights in the buildings came on, and I was still working. Even later the lights of midtown started flicking off one by one, and I was still working. Even later the sky began lightening again, which was surreal, yet I was still working. A couple hours later people started coming in to work -- people who had showered, wearing clothes they had just put on, and I was still there, looking like a zombie with greasy hair in some extremely battered business casual clothes. "I haven't gone home yet," I croaked to my admin.

By 10 am this morning I felt like death warmed over. I could barely concentrate and was closing one eye to read. My contact lenses felt like hockey pucks in my eyes. Thankfully once our work was done I came home early, around noon, to eat some food for the first time since dinner and get myself cleaned up.

I was really excited because I figured I could easily make the gym tonight, then be home in time for the VP debate. I took a nap around 3, figuring I would wake up in time for the gym. Later, much later, I woke up to find a dark apartment. At first I thought it was early in the morning, and that L had woken up before me, but then I remembered that I hadn't had a night yet. I looked at my watch, and it was 7:15 -- too late for the gym. But I guess I was too tired anyway.

Here's the thing about literally working all night: I felt kind of tough, like I'm proving myself in an admittedly stupid way, and I feel sort of ridiculous for having to do it. The last time I did this I was in college, writing a horrible paper in Spanish about Erasmus. (Or, as he's known among the Spaniards, "Erasmo.") But the real kicker is the fact that it messed up my Thursday plans, and I suspect I'll be a little run-down through the weekend as well.

My tips for working all night: (1) Don't eat crap. I stuck with ice water and frequent trips to the bathroom to stay awake, and ate some candy but otherwise didn't eat a lot of junk and soda the way I wanted to. (2) Listen to music, but keep it mixed up, so nothing gets labeled as "the music I worked all night to," because then I would grow to hate it. And I just got new albums by Ne-Yo and Eric Benet, who seem to be bookends in a way (I feel like Ne-Yo's stuff represents my past and present, while Eric Benet is singing about the kind of love and relationship that I'm still a couple years away from experiencing, in some ways), and as great as both albums are, I didn't want to permanently associate them with my wretched night in midtown.

Moving on...

Debate-wise, tonight I thought both sides did pretty well, given the expectations that were set. I really appreciated the dialogue between the candidates and the points of mutual respect and agreement that both sides were happy to note. But I thought Biden wiped the floor with Palin, in terms of specifics, directness, context, and understanding. I don't need or want a Vice President who winks at me from the television.

Sarah Palin

I was feeling really good about this presidential election until last week. Back in the olden days of late August, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that Americans would do the right, practical, courageous, intelligent, inspiring, obvious thing, and vote for Obama, and he would be president, and all would be right with the world. L and I woke up early in a hotel in Singapore to watch his acceptance speech at the convention, and were high-fiving each other in our fluffy hotel bathrobes as we cheered this small culmination of the American dream.

However, wily old John McCain had a trick up his sleeve. Initially his selection of Sarah Palin as VP was baffling: not only was she blatantly and irredeemably inexperienced, but she had all these issues with ethics investigators and state troopers-in-law and her own inconveniently pregnant children. It seemed like another Harriet Miers debacle, and I expected a similar result: she would last maybe a week, and then we'd have a much more appropriate candidate, like the buffoonish Mitt Romney.

Boy, was I wrong. Now I'm sort of terrified of Sarah Palin, and not just because she can kill a moose with her teeth. In one fell swoop, she revitalized an entire political party, turned the entire campaign on its ear, and stole the momentum of the Obama campaign, Sarah Barracuda-style.

(Incidentally, there were some moments of sublime ugliness at that RNC convention: thousands of people chanting "drill, baby, drill"; the mockery and derision of community organizers by people who have never needed them to secure their basic rights; and Mitt Romney's blithely incoherent speech, summing up the intellectual acrobatics required to make any kind of sense of the Republican message: "We need change all right -- change from a liberal Washington to a conservative Washington! We have a prescription for every American who wants change in Washington -- throw out the big government liberals and elect John McCain!" Obviously.)

If you boil it down, the reason I am so exasperated about the Palin-McCain movement is that is has proven to be extremely effective and extremely powerful. Obama has been laying low for a while now, and it seems like he's ceding the floor to the Republicans, letting them control the narrative. McCain's campaign manager has said that "this election is not about the issues," but rather "a composite view of what people take away from these candidates." Obama needs to bring it back to the issues. He needs to come up with a new explanation for why the hockey mom can deliver neither the change nor the experience that we need. He needs to wake up before McCain walks away with an election that was Obama's to lose. That's why I'm feeling nervous these days, because I have no idea how to do that.

Tim Russert

"If it's Sunday, it's Meet the Press." We watch every week, and the best part isn't the main interview Tim Russert conducts for the bulk of the show; it's the political roundtable that follows, when Tim leads his fellow journalists and politicos in a discussion of the week's news. His love of politics, his passion for the process, and his rousing collegiality are in full force. Tim Russert was so obviously having such a great time during those segments, sharing anecdotes and poll data, making quips and digging deep into hypotheticals and possible outcomes. As a viewer, you felt lucky to watch this kind of ef exchange, like you had wandered into an old boys' club that was otherwise off limits.

His love for the game was infectious. His bonhomie and good cheer were endearing. He was someone I wanted to talk to, a voice I always strived to hear to clarify the news of the day. He was always direct and sounded just so damn happy to do what he was doing. It seemed like his professional and personal dreams had been fulfilled in such a wonderful way, to create a special kind of telegenic and Buffalo-bred happiness that you can't find anywhere else.

I saw him at church once in Washington, years ago. He was in the row behind me; ever the gawky teenager, I craned my neck around to look at him. He met my eyes, nodded his head briefly, and returned to his prayer. I have loved seeing him on MTP and on NBC's election coverage for years now; I'm thankful he was able to experience the surreal highs of this campaign season, as well as guide us through its unexpected turns. I feel horrible for his family and colleagues; he was too young, too energetic to simply disappear like this. His death has been unexpectedly difficult to bear.

Tim Russert: Thank you. You will be missed. Go Bills.

Democratic party

I had a weird week last week: I totally swayed over to the Hillary side of things. The SNL/Tina Fey endorsement was a factor. L convinced me that her health care plan is better (Hillary's, not L's) (although I'm sure L's would be spectacular) and pointed out some of the insidious ways that sexism and misogyny have permeated coverage of her campaign. L has done this, I might add, with the righteous fury that only third-wave feminism can bestow.

Hillary seemed to be extremely tough, and her plans had a little more meat on the bone than Obama's, and she was just so darn competent. Obama seemed to be getting a little cocky, a little too reliant on these evanescent ideals and aspirations.

Then Hillary won Ohio and Texas, guaranteeing that this process will continue. That's when I immediately snapped back to the Obama side. It's time to pull the plug.

I read about her victory speech, when she said something like (and I'm quoting loosely here): "If you've ever been knocked down and gotten back up, if you have ever taken a hit and stayed in the ring, if you've ever gotten punched in the kidneys, if you had scoliosis as a kid and you still can't brings your hands together above your head, if you never went to the prom, THEN THIS ONE'S FOR YOU!" It was a brilliant line. But when I actually heard her deliver it on tv, it was horrible. Her flat midwestern vowels stomped the life and rhythm out of the phrasing, she stepped on her own words and awkwardly bumped into her applause. That seemed to sum it all up: looks good on paper, but for me it's just not clicking.

Hillary is tenacious. She is hurling everything she can at her opponent and the electorate to see what sticks. She is Hillary the Fighter, Hillary the Misty-Eyed Dreamer, Hillary that Cynical Realist Who Eats Hope for Breakfast, or Hillary the Pant-suited Ballbuster. But I'm looking at the clock and wondering: why is Hillary still trying to figure out an effective narrative against Obama? How does she actually expect to win, without subverting the will of the people? And why can't Obama just win this thing? Can he focus less on these tiny shitkicker states and start pulling in the big ones? What's the holdup?

McCain is a decent guy, and I will be all right if he wins the presidency. But as things stand now, Obama offers a starker contrast and a more compelling alternative than Hillary. I would still love to see a joint ticket. I just hope that the main players consider the good of the country and the good of the party, in addition to their own ambitions and agendas. Either one will be fine by me, but looking forward, I still think Obama has the better shot.

Disenfranchised

Today I called up 866-VOTE-NYC to figure out if I'm all set to vote tomorrow, Super Tuesday, in the Democratic primary. Since only Democrats are allowed to vote in this primary, back in January I took a deep breath and changed my party affiliation from "Independent, free thinker, too complicated for mere labels and slogans," to "Democrat." Yet when I received my confirmation in the mail, it listed me as having no party affiliation. Uh oh, was my immediate reaction.

This afternoon I spoke with a friendly guy at VOTE-NYC and explained my situation. He pulled my records up on the computer and told me that I have no party affiliation right now, when I want and need one, but that I am a Future Democrat (the capitalization is my own). No, not a Democrat wearing a jet pack and a mylar suit, but a Democrat who is somehow not a Democrat today, but will be one the next time around. Apparently, if you wanted to be a Democrat for the purposes of this primary here -- the Super Tuesday one, the only one that has mattered since before I smashed into puberty -- you had to register back in October.

"So I can't vote tomorrow, but as a Democrat I can vote in November?" I asked the guy on the phone. "Yes, but everyone can vote in November," he said helpfully. Of course.

So here is where things stand: I can't vote tomorrow, but I am somehow, or will be, a Democrat when I actually can vote, except then it doesn't matter. I have no innate desire to be in the Democratic party; sure, I agree with them more, and George W. Bush isn't one, and it's de rigeur to be a Democrat in New York, and they have more celebrities, so their conventions are marginally less boring, but still. (See that? I even used French in a sentence, I should totally be a Democrat, but I still don't want to be one!)

So my next step is to change my party affiliation back to nothing, and cross my fingers that the Democratic party, which I am apparently too tardy to join, comes to its senses and swings to Obama. Tomorrow should be very exciting.

"A Man in a Passion rides a mad Horse"

Today I spent an inordinate amount of time being pissed off at other people. I went up to school to do some work, and in the empty, cavernous reading room two horrible girls chose the seats directly across from me in order to pretend to study, talk -- not whisper -- on their phones and to each other, unpack and chow down on a grossly broad variety of snacks, and (best of all) chew with their mouths open like cows wearing trendy black leggings and Ugg boots. Then on the subway and on the walk home I kept encountering the kinds of people who lumber along the sidewalk yet drift horizontally the entire time, or the people who cross the street and reach your sidewalk in order to cut you off at precisely the worst possible moment. I admit that I am a pretty impatient and obnoxious person in some ways, especially as a pedestrian, but at least I walk I in a straight line with a constant speed. Who are these people, waddling along at weird angles and then darting up ahead? Why can't they get out of my way?

These were the charitable thoughts I was mulling over when I went to Chipotle and pulled out the New Yorker to read about Ben Franklin. In his various writings he compiled a lot of sayings, and made up a bunch himself, and I was surprised at how sharp they were. They were like little arrows of truth piercing my bad mood: their simplicity, humor, veracity and comical 18th-century punctuation and spelling really got to me. It feels good to live in the same moral universe as Ben Franklin, that these ideas still resonate and carry some truth through a few hundred years.

No Gains, without Pains.

He is a Governor that governs his Passions, and he a Servant that serves them.

If you wou'd not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth writing.

A Man in a Passion rides a mad Horse.

Strange! That a Man who has wit enough to write a Satyr; should have folly enough to publish it.

Talking against Religion is unchaining a Tyger.

Force shites upon Reason's back.

And finally:

The Master-piece of Man is to live to the purpose.

January 20, 2009

A year from today, a new President will be inaugurated, and the page will finally, finally turn. George W. Bush has fewer than 365 days before he shuffles back to Texas to clear brush and ignore history for the rest of his happy, stupidly lucky, star-crosssed life.

But, fortunately for us, we get a new President! Let's rank our preferences, shall we?

8. Romney - Worst possible outcome. Silver lining: he's not really a Republican. Unfortunate personal attribute: When going on a family vacation road trip, he put his dog in a crate, and tied that crate to the top of the car. Instant disqualification.

7. Huckabee - A little too much into the ol' Christianity. Laughable ignorance of foreign affairs. Unfortunate personal attribute: When his grotesque son hanged a dog at Boy Scout Camp. To clarify: he hanged a dog at Boy Scout Camp. That is not something you typically do at Boy Scout camp, or in the general practice of Christianity, in my experience.

6. Giuliani - An ass, but I persist in believing he's too much of a pragmatist to really drink the Republican Kool-Aid. Still, enough with the fear-mongering. Unfortunate personal attribute: shady business dealings with mafia types, offspring who loathe him -- both very bad signs.

5. Thompson - Someone needs to give this poor man permission to stop running for president. He's not enjoying it. You can tell he just wants to go home and try to remember how to deal with his freakishly young children. If he gets bored at home, he could record books on tape, or read to the blind.

4. Edwards - I liked him better in 2000, before he got angry and populist and started yelling about all the heads he cracked in junior high school. Maybe Elizabeth could run instead. Still, he's on the right side of our national argument, this time around.

3. McCain - A very honorable, decent, smart, noble, heroic man. Unfortunate personal attribute: party affiliation. I voted for him in the 2000 Virginia primary and maybe I would do it again. But I don't want to validate W., in any way, by succeeding him with another Republican.

2. Clinton - Smart, competent, detail-oriented, occasionally inspiring, increasingly presidential. Unfortunate personal attribute: Bill. Every time I want to support Hillary, here comes Bill huffing along the campaign trail, turning red as he spews crazy talk, clouds the issue, creates unnecessary new controversies, and ushers in a relapse of Clinton fatigue. Note to Hillary: who's campaign is this, anyway? Put a muzzle on your dude and we'll talk.

1. Obama - Please, Lord, let this be one of those times when idealism and inspiration turns into something real and powerful, and doesn't get flattened like an origami crane on the interstate. Is he the visionary leader of a new era of politics, or Carter/McGovern/the next victim of the GOP's destruction machine? I'll take my chances; I'm sticking to him. Electability is nothing more than faith and action.

Fired up, ready to go.

Back home in the city

I've been back from Armenia for a week, diving into the usual old ways of living, navigating the same old familiar ways around the city. It's been very refreshing to return to a developed-world hotspot like Manhattan, where my biggest gripe is not with chronic unemployment, urban blight, or the oppressive legacy of communism, but rather the fact that sometimes my ipod mixes up album covers and shows the wrong artwork when a song is playing. This really makes me angry, and I'm sure it's equally aggravating to live in a country without infrastructure, or to be a subsistence farmer. I'm sure of it.

Jet lag kicked my ass both going to and returning from Yerevan. After a solid 18 hour journey from Armenia to my apartment, I didn't really sleep that night, and instead took an involuntary nap when I went to see a matinee showing of "Sweeney Todd" by myself the next day. I really liked the movie, and the songs were about as good as musical theater gets, although I wonder if I would have liked it more had I stayed awake through it.

One awesome thing about coming back has been the frenzy of political activity going on here. We woke up early in Armenia to watch the Iowa returns and to see Obama deliver one of the most inspirational speeches I can remember. And everyone has been buzzing over New Hampshire, when Hillary let herself actually be human for a moment and became as real and genuine and admirable and honest (and presidential) as she has ever seemed, and my friend John McCain basically tarred and feathered Mitt Romney, but then proceeded to give the most boring, soporific speech I have ever heard. If I could not stay awake for "Sweeney Todd," McCain's acceptance speech made me pass out directly onto the coffee table, where I lay unconscious for three days until I was reasonably sure he had either shut up or been wheeled away by one of his aides, staring down at his text and muttering about entitlement reform.

I've been devouring all the political commentary I can get, waiting for the newsweeklies to arrive each Monday with pages and pages of analysis, commentary, predictions, schadenfreude and glee, checking the blogs and newspapers incessantly all day to chart the course of whatever debate, scandal, or teapot-tempest has captured the media's attention. This is an exciting time, with so many people engaged in the political process, and so many of us lucky enough to have the chance to participate. With only a moment's hesitation I actually registered as a Democrat so I can vote in the primary here on February 5th. I definitely don't consider myself a Democrat, but I will dress up as Susan B. Anthony to stake my claim in this thing. This is democracy! This is America! And after a couple weeks away in a strange and unsettling place, I love it all more than ever, when I can actually stay awake for it.

Armenia journal: January 3-4

1/3. A decadently lazy day. We stayed home all day, protected from the cold and the snow, and read books and watched "Big Love" on DVD. During the day the only time we went outside was to walk around the back of the house to the cellar to do laundry. To walk outside in jeans and longjohns and a sweater, boots loosely tied up as you slide and mince along the patio and the pathway to the laundry room, quickly gauging the snowfall and the cloudy gray oblivion of the sky as you go, and knowing there's a nice warm house and a cold Coke waiting inside for you -- it felt like the best of winter. We eventually geared up to walk to a restaurant in town, Cactus, the only Mexican place in Yerevan, for dinner. The Nepali host greeted us with a "Namaste" at the door. We had really good margaritas and mexican fare as the fashion tv network blasted at us from the wall -- the models strutting around in bikinis would not be ignored. It was nice to walk through the city at night, and to feel like I'm starting to get my bearings a bit. Everyone here is dressed in all black outside, fur coats are de rigeuer for the women, along with spiky stilettos; in our baggy winter coats and hiking boots we looked like granola-crunchy hippies from a completely unimaginable world.

1/4. Another wonderful, ridiculous day of idleness. To our credit we did leave the house to venture out for some food -- we walked through the light snowfall to a couple of grocery stores to pick up cheese and salami for lunch, as well as lavash (bread) and some other items. At one grocery store the employees wore garish orange blazers. We passed a street of very nice and well-tended houses, which was a stark change from what we usually see as we meander into the city.

Also, finished Crime and Punishment. Good but not as mind-blowing as I hoped. Got lost in some of the philosophy. Still left with embarrassingly basic questions like, "Why did he do it again?" "Why did he confess?" "What am I supposed to glean from this whole thing, really?" I see how this book could persuade or dissuade someone on the verge of criminality; as a law-abiding citizen who plans to keep it that way, I didn't feel like I gained a lot there. Except maybe if I am mugged I'll have more empathy for my assailant, if that's even something I should want in the first place.

Also, L woke me up early to check out the Iowa caucus results. Shocked and overjoyed to find my man Obama with a decisive victory. Surprised Hillary was way back in 3rd, but Edwards won't last. Happy that Huckabee came in first, too, since that's bad news for my mortal enemy, the plastic automaton Mitt Romney. And of course don't forget Rudy lurking in the shadows, with his mafioso associates and children who hate him. I'd really like to see McCain get the nod, and he's looking great for New Hampshire, although he's competing for the same moderates as Obama. Also, Obama's speech this morning was amazing and inspiring. I want him to be our president.

Patriotism, from half a planet away! David Brooks summed it up best -- it's an exciting day to be an American.

Abraham Lincoln: Believe the hype

A few days ago I finished Doris Kearns Goodwin's massive cinderblock of a book, "Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln." A biography of Lincoln, it also explores the lives of his main rivals for the 1860 Republican presidential nomination, and then moves into a study of how Lincoln included these intelligent, ambitious men in his Cabinet, shrewdly managing their skills and egos to create a strong presidency fueled by intelligence, compassion, rivalry, and, ultimately, loyalty. I don't know if I've ever written a sentence with nine commas before, but Lincoln is worth it.


One of the remarkable things about this book for me was that it truly humanized Lincoln. He was no longer the marble deity in Washington, or the severe portrait on our currency; Goodwin portrayed him as a real man, who suffered loss in his life yet found strength through his own self-confidence and natural abilities. When he was young he would listen intently to his father telling stories to other adults, and then he would ponder these stories and figure out how to relay them to his young friends, and later enthrall them with his anecdotes and humor. This knack for language and narrative remained with him his entire life and prepared him to be an amazing orator, someone who would use analogies, simple language, and folksy humor to convey profound ideas about freedom, the Constitution, the importance of liberty.

He was truly a self-taught man, studying the Bible and learning Shakespeare to make up for the elite education he never received. He lost his mother, his sister, his first love. Yet from age 23 he knew he wanted to leave his mark on the world -- although he was ambitious, he was never corrupted by the lure of power. He spoke of his political enemies with respect, and was honored by his peers for his wisdom and patience. He did not act impulsively, or out of anger.

To me one of his most remarkable characteristics was his reliance on humor. The few bawdy jokes Goodwin reproduced in the book were slightly crass, slightly tasteless, and surprisingly funny. Even in the darkest days of the Civil War, he would begin meetings with jokes and funny stories. Although some of his colleagues frowned on this, he needed to laugh in order to face the seemingly impossible tasks ahead of him.

And here's the thing: even when he was president, Americans knew that they were in the presence of a truly great man. His reputation of honesty was well-forged by the time he entered the White House. His Cabinet members constantly remarked on his wisdom and gifts as a leader, and many writers pointed out that the nation was lucky to have him at the helm during those violent years.

Can you imagine a president renowned in his own time for his wisdom, patience, compassion, humor, and conciliatory nature? A self-taught man, a brilliant orator, a man who could rise to the nearly impossible challenges of his day. People used to say that someday Lincoln would join the pantheon of great American leaders, and that his reputation may someday surpass that of even Washington. In a very small way, despite the anger and lack of charity in our political culture today, I feel proud to live in an America that honors Lincoln as the leader and statesman he aspired to be. He would not bask in the praise and glory our country has draped around his name -- around the very idea of Abraham Lincoln -- but he certainly earned it.