I was in New York in 2004 during the Republican primary. It was both a horrible and wonderful time to be in New York. It was horrible because you'd see a handful of rich Coloradans or Texans or Arizonans or whoever the fuck they were walking down the middle of the street toward Madison Square Garden escorted by brigades of NYPD officers, while the New Yorkers were penned in on the sidewalks and not permitted to cross the street to get to their jobs where they made money to pay taxes that paid for the NYPD to prevent them from crossing the street. And you would be arrested or stomped by hooves if you tried to cross the street at the wrong time. And you'd see things like a horde of white shorts with white tennis shoes walking in a pack through the Village and they'd pass a queen or some kids from the West Side piers and the white shorted patriarch would turn around and say, "Welcome to New York, guys!" to his throng and they would all titter and bunch in closer toward each other. I walked through Times Square picking fights with people, interrupting their conversations, joining their groups, telling them I was a teacher and I didn't support No Child Left Behind, kissing my girlfriend flagrantly and frequently, trying to make my eyes look as chinky as possible (not hard to do). I got into an argument with a woman from Denver about guns ("A city has different needs than a suburb!" I recall shouting) and one of my companions said, "Hm, why don't you think about law school?" and I said, "Hm, I do seem to like yelling at people."
(A photo taken in August 2004. I'm yawning and wearing orange shoes. We were doing the first of these.)
It was also a wonderful time to be in New York because it was so energizing to retreat from the hostile horde into the much, much bigger friendly horde of people who were all infuriated about the presumptuous and opportunistic intrusion into a blue city that voted 80% Democratic in 2004. Handle came to town and stayed for a month and found a bike and a crew immediately and initiated all sorts of bike and protest and culinary adventures all over town. At one point I was hosting four houseguests in a very small apartment, including a two year-old named Nina who held onto Boo's tail and was dragged all around the apartment hitting her head on walls. It was a time to feel angry, young, righteous, and alive, but it was exhausting. I was arrested at the end of that season and now I am using my little settlement from the NYPD to pay for my bar trip.
I had thought there was something satisfyingly closed about the pre-law school fighting being used to pay for the post-law school vacationing, like a very neat chapter-ending, or something, but in the last few days of infinite free time and no studying, I realized that I may still be just as interested in the fighting as I was when I was younger. It was so relieving to believe, as I did for maybe the last year or so, that I'd finally outgrown my urge to argue about politics or convince hearts and minds - because it's so tiresome, and I thought I had found a more productive substitute in arguing politely via motion practice about discrete, microcosmic issues - but electoral politics make me want to shake people. I just spent two hours reading poll analysis and watching videos of John McCain say bewildering thing after bewildering thing about foreign policy. (Holy shit, folks. This man sounds just as stupid and evasive as W! Is that what maverick means?) Now the urge is back: to drop what I'm doing, move to Ohio, knock on doors, and make saucer eyes to undecided voters.
Ughh. Wanna just concentrate on failing the bar instead, but it's hard. Sorry, readers, for this incredibly self-centered post but BUYER BEWARE and MONKEY'S PAW and also, to use a phrase most unproductively deployed by a dear friend earlier in the summer, "I don't give a fuck!" Love you all, peace on earth, and please blog more because I finished reading all of Wikipedia, thanks.
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