I see a lot of people freaking out on this site, and, in a way, it was a good thing for me. I find the freak out annoying. It keeps me away from here, and the less time I spend internetting the better. So tonight I went to a man bar with my friend Mike and we watched his team, the Bulls, and my sort-of team, the Knicks, lose. We argued about A-Rod and Ortiz and other stupid stuff.
And I was thinking, as Democrats, the best thing we can do is embrace our craziness. We are always going to be sort of a mess. We're not ever going to be "on message." And I think that's okay. Contrary to what many people think, Americans are not total morons. The other team is in a shambles. So what if they have temprorarily grasped at the straw of our many opinions. They're still a fucking mess and everyone knows it.
Seriously, who do they have that isn't totally compromised by the idiocy of their ways, which have been utterly on display for all the world to see for the past six years?
They all remind me of this drunk I saw in the bar tonight. She was a total mess, reeling all over the place. At one point she sat next to me at the bar and no one would serve her. I told her that it was probably cause she was too drunk. I could tell that really pissed her off. She was in total denial, claiming that that was her first time trying to order a drink. Whatever. Everyone knew she was plastered. It was obvious. Even in a man bar full of single men, she was being ignored.
Which brings me to another thing. It's been a long time since the last NYC meetup and I think we should have another one. In many ways, I'm an not the greatest person to be organizing these events. Not in any regular sort of way anyway. I get in my moods and I doubt myself and especially in the winter, I don't feel very sociable. But fuck it, it's time. As great as electronica is, you can't replace face to face meetings.
Need proof? Vonnegut says it best:
On replacing human contact with electronic contact: I work at home, and if I wanted to, I could have a computer right by my bed, and I'd never have to leave it. But I use a typewriter, and afterwards I mark up the pages with a pencil. Then I call up this woman named Carol out in Woodstock and say, "Are you still doing typing?" Sure she is, and her husband is trying to track bluebirds out there and not having much luck, and so we chitchat back and forth, and I say, "OK, I'll send you the pages."
Then I'm going down the steps, and my wife calls up, "Where are you going?" I say, "Well, I'm going to go buy an envelope." And she says, "You're not a poor man. Why don't you buy a thousand envelopes? They'll deliver them, and you can put them in a closet." And I say, "Hush." So I go down the steps here, and I go out to this newsstand across the street where they sell magazines and lottery tickets and stationery. I have to get in line because there are people buying candy and all that sort of thing, and I talk to them. The woman behind the counter has a jewel between her eyes, and when it's my turn, I ask her if there have been any big winners lately. I get my envelope and seal it up and go to the postal convenience center down the block at the corner of 47th Street and 2nd Avenue, where I'm secretly in love with the woman behind the counter. I keep absolutely poker-faced; I never let her know how I feel about her. One time I had my pocket picked in there and got to meet a cop and tell him about it. Anyway, I address the envelope to Carol in Woodstock. I stamp the envelope and mail it in a mailbox in front of the post office, and I go home. And I've had a hell of a good time. And I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you any different.
Electronic communities build nothing. You wind up with nothing. We're dancing animals. How beautiful it is to get up and go do something.
See, all this craziness about message doesn't matter.