Barack and Roll

I had heard stories of the fervor in people’s eyes. Of a messianic aura surrounding him. But I didn’t see that fervor. Perhaps it was reserved for the devout closely entwined together at the front of the crowd, but I felt somehow excluded from that great spiritual revival. I wanted him to take me in the palm of his hand and talk directly to me. Maybe I wanted a savior. And he is good. But he’s not that good.

It’s a shame too the theatrics involved. An introductory ‘steps’ dance that added a touch of the bizarre, a long-winded testimonial from the introductory speaker that lent an element of the surreal, and, as the final build up to his appearance, a pep rally anthem blaring from the speakers, which, with each ‘Hey!’ shouted by the crowd, dusted the air more and more comical. I was there for his words. For my chance to witness the Second Coming. Not for some farcical, pandemic festival. But I will say that when he was finally allowed to speak, just to talk to us, he had the ability to win us back over. To disarm us. To unite us? Eh, let’s not get carried away. I s’pose the point of these things is to see the person. To see if you believe them. And I do. But I will confess that what I feel to be fake, what comes off to me as the wrong approach, is the constant allusion to race. The rally staged by both the University Democrats and an association for African-American students. The, forgive me, ludicrous war dance of a black fraternity to start the proceedings. And Obama’s own chronology of American history, summing up the struggle of the black American. It might just be me, and I could be wrong on this, but if America is truly ready for a black man to be the president, and I desperately hope that we are, then shouldn’t that, at the same time, mean that race is not the issue? That as a nation we can now see past race, or better yet, not see it at all. But maybe we’re not there yet. Maybe I’m just naïve.

Ah well. Who am I to be the judge of such things? It was a rally, we rallied, and he’s moving on. Has the world changed? Not yet. Not mine anyway.

But it’s oh so pretty to think it might.

Trying to Catch the Deluge

I like airports. I like waiting in airports, I like meeting people in airports, I like joining three related thoughts to form a profound argument about my personal feelings. But I’ve heard that one should be careful about always using the rule of three. Becomes redundant, or maybe just tiresome. You can do a lot of thinking in an airport. Being forced to wait for something, letting yourself be carried along by the whims of others, resolving inner frustrations, adding fourth thoughts to avoid redundant patterns of writing. Ah what inanities my stabs at literary worth contain. Self-deprecation is the key to validity in life. And I say that to allow myself the thought that I hold the key. For that’s all I have with which to hold it.

You’re allergic to love. Bless you. Thank you. Not wholly true, what I am allergic to though is decisions. My mind goes numb, I’m paralyzed when faced with them. Blame it on being a Libra. Although I like to think the real reason is that I’m such an altruist that I feel concerned for the welfare of others through my decisions. But it’s all rubbish, I mean, I can cut the mustard well enough, but it doesn’t help me. Faced with two decisions, both of which would be thrilling, and I can’t decide because I fear the loss of one opportunity. Is that wrong? ‘Cause I fear that it’s terrible. Life should be about the things you do, rather than the things you don’t. It’s always been my curse though: to dwell, to regret, to doubt… What a fine example of the faults of humanity I am. Yeah. Fine. Note the sarcasm there. I was trying to lay it on pretty thick.

Someday I’ll find happiness in a paper cup, and drink it.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Long weekend in New York, and all I returned with was an empty stomach, a crick in my neck, and a blessed sense of release. The empty stomach because I skipped breakfast before my interview, lost the time for lunch somewhere around Times Square, haha, get it?; the crick in my neck for I spent the entire weekend walking around, looking up, and consequently running into people; and the blessed sense of release... for events are now, blessedly, beyond my control. The job teaching English in Japan can take me or no, and I can stop agonizing over whether I should try for it or no. 'Course, tomorrow, should the reply be favourable, I'll then enter into a long, dark week of deciding or convincing myself that it's the right thing to do. Is it? Damn. Give me a one track mind, and to hell with decisions. They only serve to complicate things. Fuck being capable of analytical thought. If that's all humans have then we got screwed. Ahem.

I lied earlier. I returned from New York with some ridiculously fun memories as well. And some new friends, plus old friends in new places. Saw Monty Python's Spamalot on Broadway, interviewed in the Empire State Building, and watched a lightning storm below me as I flew home. And those... can only be good things. Right? Just say yes. I mean, you know what those Monty Python boys always say...

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!