Letter from California
11/03/04 1042.33 PST
West Hollywood, CA
Good evening, dear friends. May the receipt of this weary and lonely text find you well and in good spirits. There is much to be cheerful for, believe me.
I, of course, am heartsick and badly hurt by the election results yesterday. The only thing I truly know what to say that is wise is to please not throw away any campaign paraphernalia. Youíll be very glad years from now to have it.
I am in West Hollywood on a corporate jag of strategy planningójust a functional, useful part, thatís all, nothing in the brainiac big bucks league. Itís amazing how this part of LA just doesnít seem to careóthe music plays and the people laugh and swim, drinking and laughing at the hotel in this soft cacophony of background automobile noise. The whole horizon shimmers with thousands of lights in the distance, and theyíve turned entire building sides into advertisements.
I never did get Sarah Jessica Parker, all right? The woman got no shimmy in my searchlight, itís nothing to be ashamed above. So they plastered her image seven stories high for a Gap ad, sheís pulling off her shirt to show this half-view of a pink bra on the building to my right from my hotel.
In theory, I should have no problem with this. I get up the first morning, Iím drinking my coffee on the ninth floor and six stories to the right is Sarah, Iím definitely neutral with it. But Jesus Christ after three days of this bony-faced pink-braíd six story bimbo every morning I gotta get out of here and back to my cats. Please.
Maybe some day Iíll say something incredibly wise that will bring all Democrats together and banish the republicans to their rightful place in nuclear hell. I can assure y'all that with the amount of sleep Iíve had it ainít coming down tonight, I think we all know that. The great writers on this blog have already made a very good start with that vital work. What I do know are only two things:
Itís much better that it used to be when we lost. Iíd go to bed alone in my anguish after the results came in. There was nothing to read until the next morning, and even then it was some nauseating prose from some hack half the time. There were no real voices of real ordinary people, no great voices like Steve Soto, MetorBlades, Kevin Drum, Duncan Black, Markos Zuniga and Barack Obama to sooth and guide me in my great distress. It hurts real bad, but Lord is it better than the lonely elections of years before.
Itís also much, much better to get honestly beat than to have it stolen from you.
Soon I will hurry north and be home. I could write a great deal more but freaking duty demands I get some sleep.
I will do what I can, as always. Itís very little, of course, but it's still mine, still something to cherish and craft as I share small good works with others. I like being a good Democrat. Itís who I am, Iím not changing or going anywhere just Ďcase that evil little turd won.