TRENTON, N.J.--Drat! Your blogstress just learned that nothing she had posted earlier actually published until now! And it's f'n Election Day (Jersey dialect). Although your blogstress published no witticisms of her own, she had published a heartfelt missive from the smoldering Gang of One, and her own little set piece about a set-to on a Washington, D.C., bus. Really, really she did!Sphere: Related Content
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
TRENTON, N.J.--From Douggie, the Real Estate Maven comes this:
OK, so you left the epicenter of political power to go to New Jersey on one of the biggest political days in years. What gives, what are you not telling us, do I dare ask did you leave town to be with some one else?
So, back to the matter at hand: it is 9:30 at night and no witty writings, hmmmmmmm?
Well, yes, your blogstress has been quite remiss (bad blogstress!) in not, as yet, issuing the witticisms promised in an earlier post.
And while Douggie clearly has a lascivious imagination when it comes to your Webwench's personal life, alas, the cause of the absent witticisms had to do with your cybertrix's pesky day job, the cause of her Jersey soujourn.
And so, the panic scenario your écrivaine had envisioned came not to pass in your net-tête's homeland, as the more prescient had predicted. Karen, Executrix of Jersey, comes to mind. Earlier, a voice mail was left by the Executrix, who said:
I spent the whole day at an elementary school in [Union County town], handing out Kerry flyers, and I can tell you that there's no way in hell Bush is going to win in New Jersey.
And right she was. Voter turnout in New Jersey, said the Executrix, was approaching an unheard-of 70 percent, and in Linden, turnout at 3:00 p.m. equalled the turnout yielded in 2000 at 7:00 p.m.
And so the race drags on, the big story being Ohio, Florida and the upper Middle West, while your cyberscribe blogs alone in a Trenton hotel room. Oh, fate, cruel fate!
TRENTON, N.J.--From the smoldering Gang of One comes this:
Blogstress knows I am a member of the opposing camp, and we have had our donnybrooks regarding the liberal camp versus the conservative horde. But I am not here to shill for my man, nor pick a fight with those loyal to the challenger. I suppose I am here as an American. An American pained by the sharp divisions in our nation. I am distressed that we have come to such blows and to such horrific mudslinging. I recall in the last election so-called celebrities vowing to move to Paris or some other imagined haven were George W. Bush to become POTUS. I cannot understand this mindset. To me, that is sullen, immature and selfish. Only spoiled children turn their backs on their siblings.
It is possible that John F. Kerry wins tonight. If he does, he will still be my president. I may disagree with his philosophy. I may have serious issues with his agenda. But it is the Office that I cannot turn my back on. If Kerry wins, I can only wish him Godspeed, and that he truly does what is necessary to protect us all, and honor his obligation of defending the Constitution from all enemies, foreign and domestic.
In the event the incumbent is voted out of office, certainly I will be disappointed. But I will believe that Kerry has the chance to rise to the occasion, and demonstrate those characteristics that mark leaders of men and women in trying times. I may not be a complete believer in Mr. Kerry but I am, without question, a believer in the goodness of this country.
WASHINGTON, D.C.--His name, he said, was Apocalypse, a rather improbable appellation for this plump, baby-faced young man of maybe 19 or 20. What occasioned the conversation was your blogstress's "I Voted" sticker, tentatively laid on the collar of her fabulous black leather jacket, which he noticed as she sat herself down across the aisle from him on the number 96 bus. "You did that," he said. Your Webwench looked around. The man in the wheelchair who had gotten on the bus just ahead of your cybertrix fumbled around a minute in his wallet, proudly producing his own sticker. A further scan of the passengers revealed most wearing the cute little stickers. Most were African-American. Apocalypse appeared to be of mixed heritage, his dreads, about the thickness of the wool used for baby sweaters, were bleached to a soft gold that matched his perfectly smooth skin; his eyes a merry shape and blue-green.
"Well, did you?" your cybertrix asked. Well, no, he hadn't, he said. "See, now, we need you young people," your net-tête said, sounding uncharacteristically something like her actual age.
"I just need to get my music and my writing out there," he replied.
Your blogstress agreed that artists nearly always comprise the vanguard of any revolution, but they are also society's most vulnerable activists, she explained. "Especially artists of color," she added, before her eyes landed on her own very pale hands and she wondered if she hadn't overstepped.
The conversation took off from there, ranging from Christ being the true leader (Apocalypse), you're gonna wind up fighting in a war (blogstress); people died for you, how dare you not vote (educated 50-something black woman); ain't no talkin' to you (working-class 50-something black woman).
Finally, the driver could take it no more. "Isn't anybody hearing what God is saying?!" he yelled. He was about 60, and African-American himself. "It's simple; it's about good and evil. Look beyond yourselves! This ain't about you; it's about the world.
"When I get some form and they ask all that stuff--race, ethnicity, what-have-you," he continued, "I cross it out and write Earth Man--'cause I'm a man, and God put me here on this earth. That's why we're here--to take care of this earth. And if this thing don't go right, it's gonna be hell on earth. And that's the right word--hell."
Your Webwench exited the bus, chastened.