Okay, can people please stop sending me e-mails and handing me flyers and showing me signs telling me to vote in this election, no matter who I'm voting for, because this year it's more vital than ever that everybody vote, and whichever candidate I support the most important thing is that I go out and show that support for him?
Because you know what? People who intend to vote for Bush should fucking stay home.
Okay, let's say you're blind. And let's say you want to go to the movies. And let's say you want to go to a foreign movie with English subtitles, like, oh, say, Hero. And let's say that, since you don't speak Chinese, you decide to bring a friend along to help you follow the action and the dialogue.
Do you think it might occur to her not to READ EVERY SINGLE SUBTITLE IN THE ENTIRE MOVIE TO YOU AS LOUD AS SHE POSSIBLY CAN?
And, if it doesn't, could you please sit somewhere other than RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME?
You should both thank your lucky stars I interpret the Second Amendment very narrowly.
Well, I think that, in the end, I found the best solution. I made us a reservation at a place where we can go for a "hike" (whatever that is) and then come back and fall asleep in a canopy bed.
I don't mind nature in small, controlled doses. I prefer it when it has been bent to someone's will, but I suppose that for an hour I can suffer in silence. But sleeping on the ground makes no sense to me at all.
The only bad news is that we're going on Saturday the 30th, and so I'm going to miss all the Hallowe'en parties.
But that's okay, because I'll be in my own costume, as someone who enjoys the Great Outdoors.
Here is an excerpt from an iChat conversation I had yesterday with this man.
Faustus: I want to do something nice for E.S. to celebrate the end of the medicine part of his residency and the start of the psychiatry part. So I decided to arrange for us to go camping. But here's my question: how do you go camping? David: I don't know. Don't you have to have a tent or something? Faustus: I just spoke with my brother. He doesn't know how to go camping either, but he has a friend who does. David: I think you're supposed to go to the Catskills. Faustus: I know you're supposed to do things in nature. David: You didn't say anything about nature. Faustus: That was the point. E.S. wants us to go to nature. But if I arrange it, I can ensure that any contact with actual nature is minimized. Then we never have to do it again. Whereas if he does it, he'll want to, you know, use a compass or something. David: How would you get to nature? Isn't it far away? Faustus: I'm looking that up now. Oh, here's a place that has "tent camping" and a "pick your own" farm nearby. David: Pick your own takeout Chinese food? Faustus: Pick your own falafel. David: Isn't nature cold these days? Faustus: I could wear a sweater. David: I wore a sweater today. It was stunning. Faustus: Oooh, what kind? David: A new wool cardigan with argyle. You should wear the sweater you knit yourself. I'm sure everyone else who's camping will comment on how it flatters your coloring. It really does. Faustus: Why, thank you. Oh, here's one near a lake. But I think E.S. wants us to be in a forest. David: What on earth would he do in a forest? Faustus: I think he would walk around and look at trees. David: Faustus, you're being ridiculous. No one in his right mind would walk around and look at trees. And if someone REALLY needs to look at trees, he can go to the Barnes and Noble and buy a calendar with pictures on it. I think I saw one with trees once. "Tree a Day" or something. Faustus: I really think E.S. wants to go look at actual, physical trees. Perhaps he's been lying to me this whole time. Perhaps he's not actually a psychiatrist, but a psychiatric patient. David: That would explain an awful lot. Faustus: He might even want to touch them. David: Really! I can't think of anything less pleasant. Faustus: I should thank my lucky stars I'm not planning this in summer. He'd probably want us to put bug spray on. David: True. But I suppose that's better than the alternative. If a bug touched me, I don't know what I'd do. I really don't.
The other day, E.S. and I were watching the dreadful American version of What Not to Wear and got into an argument over what country Nick Arrojo was from. I leapt out of bed, slipping like an eel out of E.S.'s grasp, to go look it up online, at which point he made a noise of frustration somewhere between a sigh and a snort. "Why do you always have to win?" he asked.
I stared at him, agape. "How can you have known me for more than three seconds and ask me that?"
"You just always have to win, and I want to know why."
"Do you also want to know why I have to breathe? Do you want to know why I am a carbon-based life form? Or why I have two legs?"
How can I be dating someone who doesn't understand me at all?
I just had the following Columbus-Day conversation with my very funny friend N.F.:
Faustus: Hey, N.F. Happy Subjugation of Indigenous Peoples Day! N.F.: Thank you. I'm celebrating by keeping some poverty-stricken Dominicans locked in my closet. Faustus: Well, I don't want to take you away from that. They might escape while we're on the phone. N.F.: No chance. They're bound and gagged. Faustus: I think you should force them to piece shoes and garments together for pennies a day. You could install them in the nursery until your wife's baby is born. N.F.: Well, there's really not a lot of room. Besides, I'm planning to sell them this afternoon. Faustus: But you'd make more money over the long term by using them as sweatshop labor. You could keep them in line by playing on their native superstitions. N.F.: I did catch one of them trying to steal, so I cut off his hands. I could use one of them as a hand of glory. Faustus: You hanged him by the neck first? N.F.: Naturally, but not until dead. Faustus: But the hanged felon whose hand you use has to be dead. N.F.: I think he can just be very, very sick.
From a conversation I had with E.S.--no, I haven't told him yet--after a brief spat on Saturday (as I am a southern Jew, and he is a Protestant psychiatrist, clearly we have a lot of these exchanges to look forward to):
E.S.: I just want the lines of communication to be open. Faustus: Open is fine. Open I have no problem with. Buzzing with electricity 24/7 is another story. E.S.: But what you said hurt my feelings, and so I wanted to talk about it.
(Faustus says nothing.)
E.S.: Or I could just pretend it didn't happen and push it down and let it come out in some other, unrelated way. Faustus: See, that's totally where we need to get you to.
When I was six, I picketed my house, hoping to be allowed to eat breakfast before getting dressed rather than after.
I marched back and forth in front of our front door, carrying a sign that said "BREKFAST FIRST DRESSED LATER."
My parents, being civil rights workers, didn't cross picket lines, and that was the only way into or out of our house,
so they were trapped there until they acceded to my demand.