blackberry bushel

Kosher for Passover: A Recent Exchange

Matt: What are you doing this weekend?
Me (Alejandra): Going home for Easter. I might hang out with (insert Jewish male friend's name) on Friday night actually. Probably go to Hoboken.
Matt: Oh god. You're so gonna have sex with him...
Me (Alejandra): No way! It's (Jewish male friend)!! And anyway, it's Passover.
Matt: So? It's not like you're made of yeast...

http://www.sentfrommydelldesktop.blogspot.com

I've been meaning to plug this for awhile. It's Alejandra's baby (er, one of them. She also has a cat. Anais. She's in heat. It's kind of gross and Alejandra desperately wishes that Anais would "stop her sluttish writhing.")

But, you can read all about it yourself.

I've been meaning to write a blog about my bowler's anxiety, but haven't gotten around to it. There's no excuse really - I don't work anymore. Not having a job has sort of made me feel uninspired these days. That's a little depressing. But art is supposed to be depressing anyway, so maybe I'm headed in the right direction.

cheers.

on the curb

I thought about writing a blog,
but now I've reconsidered.

That is all.

Currently listening : Give Up By The Postal Service Release date: By 18 February, 2003

why i'm so brown these days

This was clogging up the main profile. There will probably be more to come because I love to think that everyone cares to see my vacation photos. I love to think that everyone reads these stupid blogs. I love to think that I am really really cool. I love to think that I never had anything to do with MySpace to begin with. Mmmmmm...

why i'm so brown these days:

mas fuerte

Shame is opening your mouth to speak to a family member and then realizing that you don't even speak the same language. Well, sometimes you do, but it's always because cheating is involved. I'm on their turf, and I can't deliver much beyond asking them to pass the butter or telling them that I love them (both two very important functions in any language, but I'm sure you see my dilemma). My cousins and aunts and uncles and my grandparents have always spoken English; what need was there to ever learn Spanish? In fact, it almost would have been selfish to learn Spanish when they were constantly desiring to practice their English when we came to visit! Right? RIGHT?!

Not quite.

The fire crackles and burns bright blue embers, the wind sending some of those embers afloat and sending all of us dodging. One of them managed to bite the secondary toe of Kristen's left foot, leaving a hideous blister in its wake. I have it all on film, not wanting the moment to diappear forever as Kristen cursed the fire keeping her warm.
Tony was burping and spitting a mouthfull of beer onto the fire while Cristina, Elisabeth, Kristen, Cecilia (and admittedly me) sang a slightly off-key version of Only the Good Die Young. We could be heard all the way down the beach for certain. It was glorious. Somewhere in the midst of all this we spied three flash light beams shivering their way down the beach from about a quarter of a mile away - clearly my father, Kelly, and Norm (her father) on their way back from the cave down at the end of the cove (clearly, because we are just about the only people on this blessed beach out in the middle of nowhere). I quietly excused myself from the blaze and made my way quickly toward the surf to catch them. As I came closer, their flashlight beams caught my silhouette and shined my way. I continued into a blinding beam of light, shielding my eyes to no avail.

I joined them and we walked together as they told me about the all the crabs wandering the beach down that way and also the bat the size of a monkey that they had seen in the cave. Kelly was wide-eyed and slightly shaken, but all in excitement. Unlike the Jersey Shore, there are no lights out here - just starlight and moonlight. As we walked, we could see the outline of two or three men wading in the surf. Fisherman.
Dressed in nothing but a brief swimsuit, the men were skin diving into the surf to catch fish. We struck up a brief conversation with one as he walked us to his basket, sitting 10 yards from the incoming tide. THe fish smellled strongly, like oil and salt water and, well, fish. I looked down into the basket and saw about a dozen fish flopping urgently against one another, desperately (and fruitlessly) trying to find their way back to the ocean. My father waved his flashlight across their glittering scales.

"esto pescados de la noche"
Night fish, the fisherman explained to us, and then kindly asked us to keep our flashlight beams from the waves lest we scare away any of their game.
They would stay out for another two hours, catching whatever fish they could before making their way back up the beach and climbing the rocky cove (easily an 800 foot incline) back to the road where they would most likely bicycle back to their respective villages and prepare their goods for market.

As I made my way back toward the fire, I felt like I was on my very own beach. MY beach. This tiny little cove, the palm trees, the caves and the tumultuous waves... it felt so small and so vast all at the same time. The sound of the crashing waves pounding in my ears, I began to run, kicking up sand everywhere as I went. I ran just for the sake of running, just because it felt great to run. Because it felt great to lick the salt from my breath. I ran until I (blindly, because of the lack of light) hit a slight incline on the sand and tripped. I caught my balance, preventing a certain faceful of sand.

When I returned to the fire, Tony was dancing around the flames and chanting what he interpreted as a Native American rain dance chant. When that got old, he decided to smoke a cigarette with his belly-button while everyone sang Bob Marley tunes. We stayed until the fire burned out - a good three hours later. We stayed until Tony ran out of creative ways to entertain us. Until we ran out of songs to sing in English that my cousins knew and could sing along with.

I really, really love this.
Just this.
All of this.

Currently listening : Volare! - The Very Best Of The Gipsy Kings By Gipsy Kings Release date: By 05 September, 2000

beneficence

Two times.
That's two (2).

Two (2) times in the past twelve (12) months I have welcomed a new woman into my life. Well, honestly, they could hardly be considered women. At best, "pre-women", maybe. But these two little girls are some of the greatest accomplishments my siblings will ever tackle and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a mite proud.



The shape of those eyes, the pucker of those little lips, her button nose... yes, she's a Chexican just like her Aunt Monkey.
I arrived at the hospital earlier this afternoon, computer speakers in tow (JC can't stand to be bored for any longer than 38 minutes) and walked through an endless maze of sanitary tiled floors, dodging my way gracefully around wheelchairs and food carts, before finding the maternity ward. Guarding all the precious newborns and their glorious trust fund accounts was a single guard and a huge red double door magnetized and alarmed to the max. I had to be buzzed in, and I'm guessing that I didn't look all that threatening because they barely looked up when I walked through the door. No questions were asked, and no answers were given as I made my way to room 423.

Stepping in through the door, I was greeted by the image of my brother, t-shirt and baseball hat clad, holding his new born little baby girl. She looked like a little pappoose, swaddled tightly in her blanket. JC had her resting in the nook of his elbow as he fooled around on his laptop computer (shockingly). He smiled at me and looked down at Elliana.
"Isn't she so cute?"

I'm not the emotional type, per se, but really it was more than I could take. I instantly swelled with pride over my big brother, over this little human being which he had created. Her nose, her eyes, her mouth... everything was so incredibly small. She already knew how to pout and get whatever she wanted from daddy.
"I think she looks exactly like you" he told me. "even her nose and her chin - she's all you, if that's even possible."
I didn't say anything, but I was secretly overjoyed at the thought of her taking after me. I hadn't previously felt like I'd had any part in this creation. I didn't feel like it had anything to do with me outside the fact that JC is my brother. But her looking like me... it's pretty damn cool.

I watched as JC's massive hand adjusted her tiny little stocking cap more snugly over her head. He smiled at her and I could tell he'd been doing this all day - just looking at her and smiling at her and being amazed by her.
I turned away so that he wouldn't see the tears welling up in my eyes.

When did I get so sappy anyway?

This is my brother. This is wild, unrefined, and unreasonable JC. And this is his daughter, turning him into butter. The melted kind.

Currently listening : Takk... By Sigur Rós Release date: By 13 September, 2005

have an OK day

Children are such gifts from God. A child's laugh, or smile, or slightly off-key rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star", or their ear-piercing screams at 3 o'clock in the morning that last until 4:45, or their projectile bowel movements that necessitate bed changes every other day (your bed, not theirs)...

I feel so incredibly selfish and horrible right now. I'm an awful Aunt. I have a... well, she's beautiful in her own way (babies come along after awhile), niece who is healthy even though most of the time, with her constant grunting and groaning sounds like she is not. She has ten fingers and ten toes, she can finally hold her head up straight, and her baby acne is coming in full bloom.
Why can't I help but feel like a horrible person for being irritated every time she defecates on my bed?
Good heavens, I'm building this to sound as though the child wears no diaper, but I assure you that the contrary is quite the truth. Her mother has not yet been properly trained in the method of drop-cloth diaper changing.

My home has been over-taken by nap time, feeding time, bath time, and bed time. I have a new alarm clock: my two year-old nephew (The famed Cheech Meister) who faithfully drags me from the depths of sleep every morning by climbing on my stomach and yelling "Monkey! Monkey! Wake up!" -- Sometimes he supplements this by counting to ten in Spanish or by asking to watch the Curious George movie trailer on Quicktime. He's my hero.

Somehow, over the course of the past 6 or 7 months, I have become the most selfish and narcissistic person that I know. The trouble is, I'm torn between feeling really enamored and feeling really disappointed. What a dilemma! Finally, the chance to be completely self-absorbed! The chance to up my potential wit at least 65% (it's a well known fact that the funniest people on earth are all supreme narcissists)! Finally, finally, finally... and I feel so guilty that I can't even crack a smile, let alone an admirable joke.

Kids.
BAH!

This is a really shitty web log.
I defy myself. Really.

I would move on to more interesting subject matter, but this is all I've got these days: screaming, pooping infants; moody two year-olds, four over-hyper and loud, barking dogs; a cat that likes to spill kitty litter all over creation and lick my toes while I use the toilet, and a wing of the estate that's under construction... I've got nothing else.
No wonder I'm self-centered, there's far too much else to focus on. It would be way too difficult and probably take too much time. But hey, isn't that what narcissism is all about?

You know, this isn't half bad actually.
I don't care if you're the center of your universe as long as I get to be the center of mine as well.

Currently listening : The Trial of the Century By The French Kicks Release date: By 04 May, 2004

daydreams involving alejandra

Alejandra says:

Hey love

Mónica says:

hola

Mónica says:

What’s up?

Alejandra says:

want to hear something weird?

Alejandra says:

I found out that Eric Hilton, the man who puts the thievery in thievery corporation, is dj-ing a set at 18th street lounge on Saturday

Alejandra says:

Jay and i have a party that night, but i know he would love to go

Alejandra says:

so i told him about it, and he's like "awesome, but i don't know if we'll be able to make it"

Alejandra says:

anyway, i go on the 18th st website to see if i can figure out better in terms of time, when eric will be doing his set

Mónica says:

Yes…

Alejandra says:

so i didn't find any info but i signed up for the dc mailing list

Alejandra says:

(this is all last night)

Alejandra says:

ok

Alejandra says:

So this morning i get an e-mail from a so-called Mat Whittington responding to my sign up for the list that says “you going to be at the lounge on Saturday?”

Alejandra says:

and i thought he wanted to know if i wanted to be on the list

Mónica says:

That’s interesting…

Alejandra says:

so i write back and say: "yes, i'm hoping to make it, but my friend and i have a party earlier that evening. hopefully we'll be able to go later if we can get in"

Alejandra says:

and he replies "should be a good time. too bad i won't be here..."

Alejandra says:

and i was like "why are you missing it?"

Alejandra says:

and he's like "have to go to london and france for work. I leave tomorrow. Tough break, i know, but i always enjoy eric's sets."

Alejandra says:

anyway we keep writing back and forth and i'm like "do you always reply to all the strangers that sign up on the guestlist?"

Alejandra says:

and he's like "well i respond to everyone with a generic greeting, but i dont' joke around with them all. Just the ones with interesting names..."

Alejandra says:

anyway we kept e-mailing – talked about where we grew up, our favorite bars, favorite brunch places.

Mónica says:

Good heavens

Alejandra says:

lol

Alejandra says:

yeah but get this

Alejandra says:

i Googled him

Mónica says:

Naturally

Mónica says:

Who is he? Some major record exec?

Alejandra says:

he's the Label Manager for Eighteenth Street Music

Mónica says:

Holy crow. Of course.

Mónica says:

I should know him, I think.

Alejandra says:

i know!

Mónica says:

How come you now know him and I don’t?!

Alejandra says:

he's awesome

Mónica says:

How come you have your awesome web-editing job and I don’t?!

Alejandra says:

Moe, don’t hate.

Mónica says:

Alejandra, why have you stolen my life?!

Mónica says:

WHY?!?!?!?!

Alejandra says:

i'm a pod person

Mónica says:

A POD PERSON?

Mónica says:

HA!

Alejandra says:

you sound so dramatic in caps

Mónica says:

Maybe I should start wanting to be a journalist… NO NO NO

Mónica says:

A FOOD CRITIC! YES!

Alejandra says:

HA

Alejandra says:

YES

Alejandra says:

we can trade lives

Mónica says:

Yes, and I’ll start meeting all these great food critic type persons… just by coincidence!

Alejandra says:

it's so weird though

Alejandra says:

that i'm just chatting with this guy

Alejandra says:

while listening to his music

Alejandra says:

very strange

Mónica says:

Give it ten years time and I’ll be disguising myself to eat in the hottest new restaurants, ping-ponging back and forth between LA and NYC and you’ll be up to your ears in A&R reps and entertainment lawyers, putting up hot new bands in swanky hotels that are worth way more than their music!

Mónica says:

And then we’ll call each other after ten years, just to catch up (because we’ve been so incredibly busy with our respective, flourishing careers),

Alejandra says:

of courrse

Mónica says:

And you’ll say “I don’t know how I got into this… when did this happen?! I don’t even like these bands! Whose idea was it to bring back disco anyway?!”

Alejandra says:

HAHAHHAHA

Mónica says:

And I’ll say, “I know… I’ve lost so much weight in the past few years. I hate food now. I just want to eat jell-o all the time. And macaroni and cheese with hot dogs cut up in it… where did my life GO?!”

Alejandra says:

mmmm i love mac and cheese and hotdogs

Mónica says:

And then we’ll agree to quietly and secretly switch jobs (knowing of course that this would work because our voices sound identical over the phone and no one on the planet – not even our parents – would ever know the difference).

Alejandra says:

HAHAHAHA

Mónica says:

And we won’t tell a single soul…

Alejandra says:

except for our hot husbands

Mónica says:

Of course, I am forced to change my name to Alejandra Jorge

Mónica says:

And you to Monica Natacha

Alejandra says:

Natacha!

Mónica says:

Well, yes, our husbands would know.

Mónica says:

But by this time, really, I would be so gaunt that I would have resorted to lesbianism

Mónica says:

And you’re married to Scott Stapp, whom you’ve grown incredibly weary of because all he does is whine and question existential issues all the time.

Alejandra says:

By the way, I love that you've managed to include your dream of being a waif

Alejandra says:

Wait, Scott STAPP!?!?

Mónica says:

Yeah. Sorry. He was the worst I could think of.

Alejandra says:

God, i hope i have more imagination that that

Mónica says:

No! Wait! Benji, from Good Charlotte!

Alejandra says:

hmmm

Alejandra says:

Nick Lachey?

Mónica says:

NO

Alejandra says:

please?

Alejandra says:

damn

Mónica says:

He’s a nice guy who just happened to fall into a bad situation that snowballed. First 98 Degrees, then Jessica Simpson… the world is NOT his oyster, believe me.

Alejandra says:

i'll hook you up with the brunette from TaTU

Mónica says:

You’re a gem. A real friend, Alejandra.

Mónica says:

Fine, you can have Nick Lachey.

Alejandra says:

Yay!

Alejandra says:

he'll still be getting alimony from Jessica, who will be running a home for abused wives with Britney Spears (formerly Federline)

Mónica says:

You know Alejandra, you ALWAYS insist on having the best in these daydreams while I am continuously sacrificing a happy and prosperous life…

Mónica says:

You end up with Enrique Iglesias, and Nick Lachey

Mónica says:

While I end up with random Dave Josslyn and the mediocre half of a sucky lesbian duo.

Mónica says:

DAVE JOSSLYN!! In lieder hosen, nonetheless!!! And with his strange brother/cousin/nanny!!!

Alejandra says:

Whatever Moe. At least you get to be really skinny.

Currently reading : Dry : A Memoir By Augusten Burroughs Release date: By 01 April, 2004

hiccup

And here I am. I've crawled out of the gap and stepped back into the light, blinking in its harshness - slightly battered and only moderately bruised.

Breathe, Moe. This is fresh air.



I hear typical stories of individuals desiring so strongly to LIVE LIFE. Just get out there and live to the fullest; never missing a beat. Never missing a moment. I went through a phase like that sometime during my angsty teenage years. I was so desperate for life, or even death... just something. The desperation made me crazy sometimes, wishing I was the crying kind so that I could cry myself to sleep. But, alas, no tears came and when I wasn't suffering insomnia (which was much of the time, incidentally), I rolled dryly into sleep, musings of LIFE floating through my aching, 16 year-old head.
Now days, I think how nice it would be sometimes to simply be a spectator. There are enough beautiful lives around me to suffice, and new ones entering my life all the time and for years to come (hopefully).
So, this introduces Olivia Noelle, born quite unexpectedly on the evening of December 20th. She's like a little raisin...

And God is pretty damn amazing, isn't He?

Olivia sleeps not 10 feet from me as I write this, gurgling every now and again. She's completely taken over my bedroom, by the way... spitting up nearly everything she eats, she's well on her way to becoming the beautiful and complicated young woman stricken with an eating disorder that every girl someday becomes.

When it comes to watching the lives that twist, turn, and revolve around me day to day, I'd like to say that this is life. I mean, I could handle it if my life were watching these lives around me grow and develop, falter and succeed. Granted, I would never be able to resist the temptation to step in every now and again to lend a hand, or a word, or a hug, or a spontaneous dance to Dora the Explorer's opening credits. I'm not that disciplined. But I could watch. I could watch for a long time and be perfectly satisfied. There's this overwhelming peace that comes along with it that is really quite inexplicable. For every tear of sorrow there are four of joy. It's a pretty great trade-off, I'd say.

Live through this, and you won't look back.

I could most likely write about this for a long time, but I won't. Instead I'll shower, and dress, and pack my bags for a new years celebration in the district. I'll make my resolutions list: more a to-do list than anything else. Maybe I'll actually get some of it finished amidst all my watching this next year.

feliz ano nuevo a todos.

Currently reading : Jesus Land: A Memoir By Julia Scheeres Release date: By 27 September, 2005

he said "maybe"

Waking up to little, itchy bumps can be really really frightening. I realize this statement leaves plenty of room for gross misinterpretation, but please, don't misinterpret me, not even a little bit.

I've tried Allegra. I've tried Claritin, I've tried Clarinex... currently I'm working on a year's perscription of Zyrtec, my little allergy savior in a bottle. I think that, these days, even the Zyrtec isn't working so well. The little, itchy bumps persist and so does my violent scratching which leaves absolutely horrible looking red marks all over making me look like I've been pelted with Jujubes.

I have been pelted with Jujubes.

Brain food these days is dry Life cereal (not the cinnamon kind) and toaster waffles with lingonberries. I've also enjoyed the occasional affair with mac & cheese. Also, vegetable juice. I can't get enough of that stuff. And it's a shame that I keep feeding my brain such damn good stuff because I don't think I'm really using it right now. These days I awake to nightmares of cable knit sweater displays gone terribly wrong and backlashing, irate customers whose size I could not find "in the back". Retail has been pleasant though.
Let me tell you, this season the Gap has but one redeeming quality; one savior to call its own, and that is this sweater right here, and it comes in eight (8!) colors!! And this is about as dry as my Life (cereal).

You know what, I have to tell you... I am absolutely fabulous. Not me, as a person, but me in general; I feel fabulous, dig? For the most part, this is true. I'll have to look around here for it, but it seems to me that someone once said: "Happiness is a choice that requires effort." I think it's true for fabulousness also. Fabulousness is a choice that requires effort. Some days I'm just really lazy. I keep busy creating atmosphere for my life... I build the set but I'm too tired at the end of the day to actually utilize it. Let me tell you though, the atmosphere is phenomenal. Shadows cast this way and that creating perfect balances of darkness and light and color and all-around coolness. The air is positively filled with the stench of thinking and pointing and listening and maybe even some crying. There's also a faint whiff of coconut and vanilla lying around from somewhere or other. Music options abound and shift from the extraordinary to the mundane. There are rainy day tunes and empowering tunes and tunes to make you laugh. I'm running a regular starbucks here, folks... and not turning a damn dime of profit.

I knew I should have been an artist.

All this music available and I've got the GAP playlist stuck in my head.
But, my life could be far worse. I could have been born without a pancreas. That would really really suck. I could be someone who loves to write and although is never lacking inspiration is regularly lacking motivation and ends up settling for mediocrity and writing about absolutely nothing important whatsoever. Oh, man...

Someday this week I will tell a story, and it will be a good one. Right now, however, I'll just have to settle on my hives, and Life cereal, and the GAP playlist, and really really cheesy quotes about happiness and fulfillment... I keep all the good stuff written in another place anyhow.

Currently listening : Grace By Jeff Buckley Release date: By 23 August, 1994

blank

click here for the time of your life

Currently listening : Guero By Beck Release date: By 29 March, 2005

this is where my mom is from

Midlands Most Wanted

Each Monday, The State will run information on a suspect wanted by authorities. Since the feature began in February 2004, 29 suspects have been taken into police custody.

RODNEY DANE HIGGINBOTHAM

• DATE OF BIRTH: July 29, 1965

• DESCRIPTION: 6 feet 1 inch, 165 pounds, brown hair and hazel eyes

• WANTED BY: Lexington County Sheriff’s Department

• CHARGES: Third-offense criminal domestic violence

• LAST KNOWN ADDRESS: 232 Stagecoach Road, Gaston

• ALLEGED CRIME: Police said Higginbotham argued with his wife because she had not cooked anything. When she began cooking, he started making spaghetti while eating crackers and squeeze cheese. They argued, and he squeezed cheese on the kitchen floor. She squeezed the cheese on his truck, and he squeezed the cheese in her hair before fleeing in his truck. His wife said she washed her hair before the officer arrived to take her complaint.

• IF YOU SEE HIM: Call the Lexington County Sheriff’s Department at (803) 785-8230 or Crime Stoppers at (888) 559-TIPS.

simply basic

Editor’s note: If you find yourself making commentary on recent unemployment more than once over the course of 12 months, please consider a change in career paths.

I was born to direct. I was born to sit in that special chair, and do a lot of pointing. I was born to make other people make things happen. I was born to think, and to create in my mind’s eye but then count on someone else to bring that creation to fruition…

I sit at my computer and make lists using Microsoft Word. My fingers can type so incredibly fast. I can’t write on paper anymore because my hand cannot keep up with my brain. I type for 30 seconds and then stare off to my right. I look at the bookcase and glance over the stack of laundry on my bed. And then I type again. I’m creating, see? This is what creative, unemployed people do: nothing.

While today was only (mostly) a series of good ideas, a day made up of 99% inspiration and only 1% perspiration, I did manage to create the most intriguing little corner in my bedroom. This amber-colored mosaic lamp that I’ve installed is positively intoxicating. My eyes feel the size of saucers as I sit, chin resting on knee, examining every last little square tile and the other-worldly glow that they cast over my bedroom… and I dare to say that this single minor adjustment might just increase my creative, do-nothing juices a good 30% over the next week or so.

I hope so.

Driving forces come all at once these days in a fluster of lust and love and passion and desire… well, these all sound so drastically sexual, but that’s not how I mean them at all. It’s like a draining whirlpool in my spirit: two tons of flourishing emotions being forced through one small pinpoint of a hole, draining out to God knows where.
If that sounds helpless, then I’m really not making myself very clear.
This doesn’t feel helpless, but feels excited, and anxious, and scared, and hopeful. Sometimes there are moments of helplessness…

Not two days ago I begged for a rebirth. I begged to be erased and re-generated, to start over. I would make better choices, do things right. I would trust and obey. This is the creation of inactivity. This is an overwhelmed spirit who does not know where to begin, because it is no longer at the beginning.

But then, there are always places to begin.

I begin by stitching up the rips in the seams of my throw pillows even though I don’t really know how to stitch anything, or, I say I don’t.
I begin by washing and re-washing laundry.
I begin by showering, even though it’s already 5 o’clock in the evening.
I begin by hanging prints on the wall that have been waiting to be hung for over a year.
I begin by folding laundry that’s been waiting to be folded for two weeks.
I begin by plugging in lamps and casting other-worldly glows over my bedroom walls.
I begin by dreaming up more things to begin.

There are many things I don’t even know how to do, from the monstrous to the mundane. I’m not sure how to paint my ceiling now that I’ve already painted my walls, and I have no idea how I’m going to start a new business.
I know how to create, but I don’t know how to build. Or I know how to…
Damn it. I know how to care, but I don’t know how to love. Egads, would you look at that?

And then I wonder if I can just create until there’s nothing left to create. If there’s some point I can reach at which time my entire mind will be clear, blank, erased…
Purity – damn, that’s really beautiful.

And, for the record, I wasn’t even close to being born to direct. I’m lousy at telling anyone what to do. I tell myself everyday, but, well, we all see where that gets me: right back to square one, back to the beginning.

Currently listening : Ferment By Catherine Wheel Release date: By 09 June, 1992

Days 8 & 9: The price for governor

The price for Governor: Faith, Experience, Loyalty and Trust
By: Habibullah Saleem

The price for Governor is loyaly and trust
The price for Governor is the absence of lust
Thoroughly qualified, Doug Forrester for sure
Bringing to the voters the requirements for cure

A state of emergency for a state that's ill
Doug Forrester with vision, with maximum skill
The price for Governor is substance in accord
Artificial opponents we cannot afford.

The voters today are in need of truth
Not someone unable to produce
The price for Governor means being for real
When voting for Forrester, the victory is sealed

A man unwilling to decline or pretend
No wonder Doug Forrester deserves to win
STraight to the point with honesty to share
Doug Forrester as Governor with leadership to spare

Down to Earth, whether black or white
Doug Forrester as Governor, an amazing delight
With nothing to hide, devoted and clean
Vote for Doug Forrester and not some scheme

Understanding New Jersey is to be alert
For health and economics he's willing to work
Putting in place collective education
Inclusive strategies with appropriate inspiration

A family man with righteous support
Unauthorized characters we must abort
Doug Forrester is accountable, dependable and precise
Willing to listen and accept advice

Knows how to proved and care for our elders
Forrester's character is that of a welder
Not drunk on status or monetary gain
Doug Forrester as Governor: productive and plain

Derailing confusion, tricks and lies
Integrity and dignity he constantly applies
A builder of unity, connecting the links
From the soul to the mind is the way he thinks

Winning you over with his honorable deeds
It's clear and obvious that he's the Governor we need
Born a winner with guts to challenge
Doug Forrester as Governor with exceptional balance

New Jersey as a garden in a state of decline
Defined by experience, a leader genuine
Not one to brag or foolishly boast
As Governor of New Jersey, oh! what a host!

Exposing the magicians with all of their tricks
As Governor of New Jersey Doug Forrester we pick
So let us as voters do more than just pray
Let's vote for Doug Forrester and without delay


***

Folks... I just can't make this stuff up.
There's tons more to write, with just one full day left to go. The highlights remain stellar (visits to black congregations and a country club that does not allow jewish members are just a few), and spirits are actually high.

My neck hurts.

To be continued...

Currently listening : Yankee Hotel Foxtrot By Wilco Release date: By 23 April, 2002

Days Four - Seven: sometimes I actually feel like I have a real job

Something told me at the beginning of this bus tour that I would have time
to be writing blogs daily as a useless and not read-worthy reference guide
to the Forrester for Governor campaign here in New Jersey... I was
absolutely correct in my original perception of how much of my time this
tour would be eating up. I'm busy, but I've certainly been busier. I've just
been lazy with this blog bit and admittedly, realizing how un-informative
and lack lustre it actually is.

Regardless, it's been an interesting past couple of days. of course, it
doesn't take much (just a small snippet or occurance here and there) for me
to turn into an entire blog entry. Berkeley's choice of necktie, an
overheard comment, an eight year-old with a better understanding of the new
jersey political process than either one of the candidates... you know,
little things. So, I might tell a few stories here from the campaign trail,
just to give you a little insight into how things work. I'll keep all the
secrets to myself though, seeing as how these types of things (written on
the internet) seem to come back and bite me in the ass all the time.

Doug received a letter from an eight year-old boy a few weeks ago. It was a
school project that had obligated him and his classmates to write and send a
letter to a hero of theirs. This boy, Gavin, chose Doug Forrester as his
hero and wrote Doug a letter highlighting his status as a "staunch"
republican and letting Doug know that he was "fed up with corruption in New
Jersey" and "very concerned about the transportation trust fund".
Admittedly, we thought that his parents had written the letter. Doug gave
young Gavin a call to chat with him and thank him for the kind letter only
to realize that it was VERY probable that young Gavin had indeed written
this letter copmletely on his own volition and using his own words.
This child became gold.
We decided to meet up with Gavin at the Toms River Halloween parade. His
parents drove him to meet the bus and were ecstatic that their son would get
the opportunity to sit at Doug Forrester's feet and suck up every ounce of
wisdom he could by way of osmosis.
His parents seemed relatively normal.
Gavin dismounted the family mini-van wearing navy trousers, a white oxford
shirt, and carrying a 2005 copy of the New Jersey legislative manual. He
was... interesting, but kind of cute for an eight year old political hack.
He exchanged words with Doug and Andrea for about an hour on the bus, sharing cokes and smiles. He shared that he is an only child and "very happy about it, because [he] gets all the attention". He also shared that he has no pets except a dead dog - but don't feel badly about the dog dying... he never really liked her anyway.

Gavin brought along his Halloween costume: a Garden State Parkway toll booth, featuring everything applicable including a basket to throw toll tokens, change, or in this case, candy into. I guess just keep Bret Schundler away from him.

I already briefed on the rest of the parade - no need for further delineation.

Tuesday I stayed off the bus the entire day, which was great because it afforded me the opportunity to do work for my old candidate, whom I still don't work for anymore, but manage to find work to do anyhow. My travels for Bret took me down to Trenton where I was dropping off the (hopefully, once again) final legal/financial report that I will ever have to drop off at the Election Law Enforcement Commission. I was waiting for my public financing representative to come down and chat with me when an old "friend" walked through the door.

Receptionist: "Are you here to drop off a Gubernatorial submission?"
Guest: "Yes, that's right"
Receptionist: "And which campaign are you from?"
Guest: "Bob Schroeder for Governor."
Receptionist: "And you are...?"
Guest: (ahem) "Bob Schroeder."

I felt really embarassed for him. Bob was one of the seven republican gubernatorial candidates this past spring in the new jersey primary election for governor. He was one of the less... popular candidates. A committeeman from Washington Twp. (Bergen), he had absolutely no name recognition state-wide and little to no leverage even locally (he wasn't even the mayor, just a councilman). A millionaire (seemingly a trend this year), he spent an absolute TON of money unnecessarily and only kind of made himself look a little silly. Regardless, I felt embarassed for him that absolutely no one knew who he was and I imagined that he was dropping off his own submission because he had absolutely no one else that would be taking care of things for him.

He stepped into the public filing room that I was waiting in and nodded his head toward me.

"Hi, I'm Bob Schroeder"

I nodded my head and smiled, "Yes, I know. I think we've met a couple of times, but you know... always amongst the masses."

He smiled back and glanced quickly at the files and papers I had set down on the table.

"Which campaign are you with?"
"Bret Schundler's campaign... last submission."
"Yeah... well, my accountant is in Ocean County and I was over there and figured, hey, while I'm down here, I'll just bring the submission over myself, you know?"

Yeah. I know, Bob.

Tuesday night was anything but anti-climactic as I found myself back in Newark at the Renaissance Church on 7th Avenue and Roseland St. We pulled up to the corner to find 250 African American Newark residents holding signs and screaming at the height of their ability. It was causing quite the ruckus and the media was eating it up. CBS, ABC, Fox, and a few others came out for the show. It was quite the spectacular show and I got to flex my "secret service" muscle as I navigated Andrea through the congestion, guarding her back with my outstretched arm, completely unconvinced that it would derail any sort of serious threat to her person.

The rally was just short of amazing. Doug was dead on target. It was great. The crowd was so incredibly electric... it generated this sort of high that wafted through crowd, touching most everyone and leaving us all in a buzz that would have been really hard to deflate.

For a moment, I felt like I might actually (finally) be working on a winning campaign.

Last night Andrea and I traveled into New York City for a fundraiser that some friendly neighbors (new yorkers) were hosting for the Forrester for Governor campaign. This was probably the highlight of the campaign as our driver (a former Port Authority police officer) arranged for us to have a police escort through the Lincoln Tunnel so that we wouldn't sit in traffic for two hours. Simple, right? I imagined that a police officer would clear the path in front of us, lights flashing, siren sounding, and we would wait patiently as people angrily moved aside. I never imagined what actually did happen. I never imagined that this would be a multi-officer operation, shutting down an entire lane of the Lincoln Tunnel and funneling all traffic to the right hand lane as we cruised past in the left lane, officer in front and in back. Andrea laughed uncontrollably in nervousness, as she ducked and hid her face from the view of the million and one commuters to our right, sitting in absolutely stillness as we drove on, effortlessly. It was pretty amazing and we were only happy that there were no campaign bumper stickers on the car. We ended the evening with dinner in mid-town and returned home in relatively high spirits.

I'm on the bus as I type and am heading to Vineland (Cumberland County) where we will attend a rally for the candidate. We just left Gloucester where Doug and Andrea walked the cows home from pasture with Farmer Smith and his wife. It was precious.

There has been some anxiety felt on the bus today and was felt strongest as we waited, parked in cow country, all of us tuned into the radio listening to new accusations. I can't imagine ever being a candidate's wife. I really feel sympathy for Andrea right now.

Tonight ends late and tomorrow is a long day. Only 4 days left to go...

hoo-rah.

Day Three: yeah, where is that guy?

Brevity, in the past, has not always been my strongest quality. Certainly I might be known in some circles for charm, wit, the occasional good deed, but brevity is really not a strong point of mine.

Regardless, I plan on being brief at this moment only because it's an early start tomorrow morning and my poor, aching neck is in need of a soft, cushy pillow...

Every Halloween I forget at least 18 times that it's actually Halloween. Today was certainly no exception.
The holiday's presence finally sunk in as we arrived this evening at the Toms River Halloween parade. This particular parade has been held annually for the past 60 years and is hosted by the local fire department. They have very strict rules about politicking.

NO bumper stickers.
NO lapel stickers.
NO campaign literature.
NO campaign paraphernalia of any sort.

In fact, I had to promise all sorts of favors (ahem) just to convince them that Doug and Andrea themselves were not political paraphernalia.
It was actually a terrific parade, highlighted by the fact that all of the kids in Toms River trick or treat on the 30th and we were continuously refused when offering several children some of the 86 lbs. of candy that we had brought along with us. Everyone was "candied-out", a definite contrast to Saturday's pre-halloween parade.
I ate 5 miniature Twix bars while trying (vigorously) to give away candy, as though it were to stand as a testament to those would-be candy takers around me as to how wonderful an idea the candy actually was.
I don't even like chocolate. The sacrifices I'm making on a regular basis here are truly outstanding.

Innocently we walked down the sidewalk following Doug and Andrea, all 7 of us. We were a friendly entourage, eating and offering candy.
It only took about 15 minutes before they completely swarmed us. Young kids, about 12 of them, surrounded us with Corzine signs, blocking Doug's face from the crowd. They were passing out lapel stickers and bumper stickers (please refer back to the rules) and one was dressed peculiarly, with blue spiked hair and a large butterfly pinned to her back. They took pictures of Doug being suffocated by "Corzine". Doug smiled on, greeting parade goers and ignoring the nay-sayers.
They stood silently, but strangely made more noise than anyone there. They surrounded us and walked with us for a good 14 blocks.
It's really a shame that Senator Corzine is so crowd-phobic, or else he could have been there to defend himself against the masses.

"Corzine sucks!!!!" (this one was really popular)
"Oh, look, Corzine... wait, is he out tonight?"
"I thought they weren't supposed to have signs here."
"Don't ruin our Halloween!"
"Are you what we get in the statehouse if Corzine wins?" (directed to blue-haired butterfly girl... who, actually, someone wasn't sure if she was a guy in a skirt or not).

They followed us nearly all the way back to the bus and I briefly considered inviting them in for hot chocolate.
I wonder how much those kids got paid tonight...

***
I actually wasn't even on the bus today. I met up with the bus in Toms River to join them for the parade, but otherwise I was running around Jersey City like mad (for top secret reasons... really), and spent two hours or so in Princeton with Andrea while she was filming her next commercial for Doug (tune in to see)!

Pretty uneventful day. Tomorrow is fairly light also: a press conference in Newark sometime around 3:30.

Jeff Whelan followed us around yesterday at the Giants game. Actually, wonder of wonders, Greg and I bumped into him in Jersey City this morning. Regardless, he wrote up a little blurb that showed up today. Just a little highlight:


”Forrester, who is touring the state by bus, kicked off his day in the parking lot at the Meadowlands prior to the Giants game with the Washington Redskins. At a tailgating party hosted by a supporter, the candidate fended off Jell-O shots and feasted on a roasted pig as Led Zeppelin blared in the background and the crowd chanted his name.

Forrester and his wife, Andrea, then ventured through the rest of the parking lot where they ran into a few New Yorkers, who told him they were sorry they couldn't vote for him.

"This is Jersey, we can work these things out," Forrester joked.

Some fans mistook Forrester for a member of the Mara family, owners of the Giants, and a few others complained that his campaign bus nearly drove them off the road on the way to the parking lot. Forrester apologized profusely, but that didn't satisfy everyone.

"This is B.S.," said one fan, Arthur Sockolof, complaining that politicians have no place at a football game. “

And, of course, I couldn't possibly forget to ad my absolute most favorite quote of the day! Overheard in Toms River at the Halloween Parade: "Hey, so did you see Vinny's new Mustang?!"

Folks… all in a day’s work.

Day Two: welcome to the jungle

I heard it was so cold yesterday that Jon Corzine had his hands in his own pockets... amazing, eh?
But while yesterday took every chance it could to greet us with windy chills, today was gracious and kind, with warm sunshine and little to no wind to push us along; it was glorious.

I'm not a big sports fan, folks. Not to say that I dislike sports (that's really not the case at all. In fact, I really do enjoy sports quite a bit), but I just wouldn't consider myself a fan. At least, I certainly wouldn't consider myself a fan after today. I don't think I actually ever even really knew the true definition of "Sports Fan" until this morning.

Our first stop on the bus tour today was the Giants / Redskins game at Giant's stadium. We arrived somewhere around 9:30 or 10 in the morning and were greeted by thousands of already drunk fans who had been working toward the goal of complete inebriation since roughly 7:30 or 8 o'clock that morning. Doug shook one thousand and one hands in what he later admitted was a tremendous effort after the first 300 or so, suggesting that perhaps drunk hands are a little harder to shake.

The purpose of the stop was to meet and greet with thousands of potential voters, make our absurdly billboard-esque bus visible to thousands of potential voters, and to stop by a volunteer's tailgate party at 16-B.

Wow.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is where the Future Meatheads of America (FMHA) meet.

This is where young, semi-attractive women adorned in gucci, chanel and prada are coupled to thick men with creative facial hair and wardrobes existing of only three colors: red, white, or blue.

This is where everyone's creativity shines brightest when trying to outdo one another in innovative ways to channel beer directly from the can to their mouths.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is where beer ads are made.

BF and I sat at the end of the theme-decorated motorhome that our hosts had parked at 16-B and watched the crowd around us.
I ate a little bit of pig.

The hugging.
The deep throated yelling.
The chants.
The dumpster diving...
Yes! There was dumpster diving! The honors were done by a man wearing a bright red wig. He did a flip right into the dumpster. Apparently this sort of occurance is a real issue at Giants Stadium.

After the dumpster dive, all the "Sports Fans" gathered in a circle around a guy wearing a Redskins jersey. I get the feeling that this was all staged and role-played, similar to professional wrestling. There was a ring leader who was yelling through a bull horn, bringing the offending opposer to his knees in the middle of the circle. The jersey was violently ripped off and immediately began a ritualistic burning. Doused in lighter fluid, the jersey melted before our very eyes as "Welcome to the Jungle" blared at deafening levels from the sound system that our host at 16-B had provided. The fans danced in a circle around the flaming adornment and chanted their devotion to the New York Giants.

BF and I were the only people not shouting, chugging, or stomping on the burning remnants of the jersey. We laughed though. We laughed in absolute utter amazement.

**

After the tailgate party, we escorted Doug and Andrea to an area where there was a lot of traffic going into the stadium (people traffic, not car traffic). They shook hands here and greeted game-goers for a solid hour. I was more than amused for a solid hour.

A lot of comments were overheard and most of them made my day in one way or another, but there are a few that stuck out so greatly in my mind that they ended up finding little ways to regurgitate themselves throughout the day, making me smile like mad.

"Let's go Corzine! Let's go Rebates!"
Perhaps a little weak, but funny because it's about as common a mixture as creamer in your lemon tea.

"Forrester sucks! Crack kills!"
No further delineation necessary.

"Yeah! Forrester! You have my fuckin' vote!"
I think it's great that people can mix profanity and encouragement.

and possibly my absolute favorite of the day:
"God bless you, Doug Forrester"
You really had to hear the tone of this one... you had to be there to fully understand. It was a heartbreaker for certain.

Most of the comments were encouraging though, seriously. Doug stood and answered questions, autographed sports memorabilia, smiled for photographs, and successfully clogged the stadium entrance...

The rest of the day was relatively anti-climactic in comparison. We had a press conference with NBC and CBS. I closed my finger in a door (!). Black Sheep closed his head in a door. Yes... relatively anti-climactic.

There were a few press clips that popped up from Sunday's travels.
We had Josh Margolis (of the Star Ledger) traveling on the bus with us and to the Rutgers game. The clip is so-so, but gives a little insight to traveling around with the candidate which is [usually] interesting.

Tomorrow is a light day. Maybe I'll sleep in. Or go to Curves. Or write this entry since I got too lazy to do it when I was supposed to.

Currently listening : Appetite for Destruction By Guns N' Roses Release date: By 25 October, 1990