constant narrator

Almost as if with child, but much, much better, being there is no morning sickness, no awful labor stories and I get paid a bunch. I was recruited by a headhunter last week and after some fast-moving interviews I start on Tuesday. It lasts at least two months and perhaps longer. This bodes well for my general headspace, paying bills and future travel. It does mean that those long afternoon phone calls I have with you (one of my three readers) will not be happening for a while.

Dean & Political Junkie/Dork on Bus

Monday night started at Ruta Maya coffeehouse, where I went to the sign in table and told the table fellow my situation and he grinned and gave me a bus number and name tag and let me in the back door. I arrived late and Dean was already on stage, hollerin’ at the ~500 hot and sweaty cheering Austinites inside and pouring out the doors. His stump speech had evolved since I saw him a couple of months ago at Saltillo Plaza. He made jokes about how he could sound like this now but if he won the nomination in eight months, he’d “have to sound more presidential”. He’s gotten better at working with his audience and joking around. Once he was finished, folks headed for the buses that were lined up outside. I was on bus B, the bus that was going to get Dean half way to San Antonio after he had glad-handed on bus A. I sat behind a news crew for 60 minutes (see the I’m A National News Corp Junkie post to come…) and in front of some college democrats who had been working on the Dean campaign all summer.

Dean came on the bus. The film crews were filming with their bright lights and trying to film past each other’s enormous cameras. Dean was mostly hidden. A supporter up front, knowing of his musical inclinations, handed him a harmonica. Dean was game and even though the harp was in a different key than the G he claimed to usually play, managed to get out a Bob Dylan tune, With God on Our Side. He shook hands with a few people (thought not all) and stopped to talk to a woman who turned out to be a teacher sitting across the aisle from me. He was amazingly fit, muscled, even. He could be called stout but that isn’t quite right, he too agile - he’s bundled. (Later on a couple of women commented on his nice butt.) I was shocked that people weren’t really trying to talk to him. They all seemed shy or in awe or candidate-got-their-tongue. I felt like saying, “Come ON people, this is your ONE CHANCE! This guy may be President someday, talk to the man! This is a democracy, go for it!”

As he passed by I asked him if I could take a picture with him and he said yes and I climbed over the poor boy in the seat next to me: (see bad photographic evidence). A woman sitting behind me took our picture with my camera and at that moment I realized there were three giant TV cameras and 3 zoom-lensed cameras from the press focusing on us, lights ablaze. It was enough to fray the political junkie nerve a bit. I introduced myself and thanked him for coming to Texas and then told him that when he was elected I encouraged and supported him to do his proposed study on the death penalty and its use in the country AND impose a moratorium. He looked at me for a split second as if thinking ‘who is this woman?’ and then said, very easily, that he had had several supporters ask the same of him. Then, in a fit of non-groupie madness, I said (pinching my fingers close together) “You’re this close to being perfect!” There was a slightly horrified silence from the other supporters around me, as in - “DEAN, NOT PERFECT?” Perhaps I made a faux pax? He laughed and said, “You will be happy to know that I plan to sign Senator Leahy’s Innocence Protection Act“. I said, “That’s a great first step and I encourage you to do that.” I got a pat on the back and there was good luck wishes all around and then I climbed back over the boy between me and my seat.

At that point all of the cameras got off me and I felt like I might throw up. But I didn’t! The kid next to me was sort of staring at me. I felt good at having spoken up, and I felt good about Dean’s response and general ability to handle issue disagreements, but I also felt like I had just gotten off stage after the semi-final round of competitive karaoke, slightly drunk.

All in all, a smashing success, making me like Dean even more.

DeanBlog Photos from the Trip: http://photos.deanforamerica.com/gallery/19255 (bus, harmonica photos from my bus)

NYTimes: http://www.nytimes.com/2003/08/26/politics/campaigns/26CND-DEAN.html
(w/ harmonica photo from my bus)

Austin-American Statesman (good, short article abt Dean’s stump in Austin): http://www.statesman.com/metrostate/content/auto/epaper/editions/tuesday/metro_state_f3b45089d416100100e6.html

San Antonio Express-News (positive coverage, highlighting different parts of the stump speech): http://news.mysanantonio.com/story.cfm?xla=saen&xlb=180&xlc=1045321

USA Today (surprisingly long for the fluff paper): http://www.usatoday.com/news/politicselections/2003-08-25-dean-usat_x.htm

Washington Post (from Saturday, overview of the Dean campaign): http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A34389-2003Aug22.html

Hey there, guys! I know, I know, the last time you asked a girl out she threw up on herself and then was thrown out of the bar, but don’t worry, Mars was in retrograde then and things like that can’t be helped. Don’t let a setback like that keep you from getting your groove on and keeping that bad spoilt-cheese smell at bay.

What you need to do is get out more! Go to the coffeeshop and make sure to talk to the girl behind the counter about innocuous things like the weather, Matrix Re-loaded or the latest Oprah book you’re reading. Keep the conversation to 30 seconds or less. Don’t tip too much, as coffeegirls are wary of that sort of business. Now that you’ve done that, head off to the local bookstore - NOT the library. We all know creepy men who hang out at the library! Refrain from skulking in the stacks. Instead, head to your local Barnes and Noble and help yourself to their magazine section. Feel free to sit down and read for awhile. Make sure not to get too into your articles - there are ladies afoot! Avoid car, computer and boobie magazines. Instead, choose world affairs, vegarian cooking and light business magazines. Women go crazy for men who are well read on politics, cooking and appear to have money! When a lovely lass is browsing the selection nearby, glace at her non-chalantly, then go back to reading.

That’s right, act like you have better things to do than meet her. As she stays in the aisle and ponders Real Living vs. Simple Living, stand up and put your magazine back where it belongs. (Never, ever put it back in the wrong place -this is a sign to a woman that in the future you will mix her white undies with her black ones in the dresser drawer. Avoid that penalty!) If you’re reading the right magazine, you’ll have to move past her, perhaps stretching your arm in front of her. Say “Excuse me”. She’ll love your politeness. When she smiles, hesitate for a moment and then say, shyly, “Do you like that magazine? I’ve been thinking of getting my sister a subscription for her birthday.” Do not say “my mother” - this would indicate that you think this lovely young lady is grandma material. When she responds, let the conversation flow naturally. Do not think about telling any off-color jokes about the shovels in your trunk or starting to say “heh heh heh” too much. When you ask her out for coffee next week, she’ll be delighted and give you her real phone number! After that, it’s just a few months until she’s revamping your wardrobe at Nordstrom’s and making you drink Diet Pepsi to help trim that tummy. And that, my friends, is love. Go get ‘em!

Today I went for an cattle call for extras for the new move written by Luke Wilson and starring he and his brother Owen Wilson. The movie’s going to be filmed here in Austin in September and October. I don’t really know why I was driven to dress up, create a short actor’s resume and make Michael take poloroids of me in lieu of a real head shot, but I was and I found the entire experience rather entertaining. The cattle call was at a hotel in south Austin and when I got there, 200 people were lined up in the steamy hall pressed up against the wall writing on their little extras forms. There were a lot of college girls, some mommies with kids, a few college boys and a knot of raspy-voiced men with mullets who when they met each other in the line got very enthusiastic and compared notes on their close-ups as extras in the film The Alamo which was shot around Austin last winter. The girl in front of me looked like she had the worst post-puke, blood-shot eyed, tequila-induced hangover I’ve ever seen. How she dragged herself out of bed I don’t know.

The form we all filled out had questions like:
Can you ride a horse? (yes) (no) How well?
Can you play an instrument? How well?
Do you have a car or truck or tractor that you would be willing to drive in the movie? (year)(make)(model)(color)(condition)
Do you have a pet that you would be willing to have in the movie?

Alas, Zubbie would not like to star in a film, nor even see more than two people at once, so there’s another impediment to my rampant fame. Who knows what will happen? Maybe I’ll be in a crowd scene on Congress or drive my truck Ursula past a scene on 6th St. The sky’s the limit in extra-land.

It’s very hard for me to bring my Dad’s voice to mind. This has always been the thing that I missed most about people when they’ve transitioned out of their bodies: their voices. I can only bring my Grandma Handy’s voice to mind with a couple of phrases and even then it’s like hearing it from the other side of a wall. Right after my Dad died, I used to pray and wish and try to make-happen that I would dream about him and that in the dream he would talk to me. It didn’t really work. I didn’t dream about my father until many months had passed since his funeral and even in those dreams he was mischeviously silent. I can now remember a small handful of dreams that I have heard his voice. A couple of days ago I woke up early, sometime as the sun was coming up and beginning to filter onto the trees. I was awake enough to hear his voice very clearly as we were inspecting items in the dream. He was showing them to me. As I woke up enough to banish the dream entirely, he said to me:

“And this, this is a cat’s tooth.”