The Hope Cycle

Today is the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy. Clearly, I was not around at that time, but every time I read or think about this event, I sob. I weep because I believe, in my heart of hearts, that the world was robbed of someone who truly could make it a better place. Someone who inspired hope in everyone he met, except for the evil conservatives who continue to this day to exploit ethnic, gender, and class differences to enrich themselves.

Two op-eds in today's New York Times have lines that I feel perfectly encapsulate what RFK means to me. His oldest daughter, Kerry Kennedy, wrote, "My father had often quoted St. Luke, that from those who have been given much, much will be expected." He put this belief into practice, not imposing on people, but listening to what they had to say about their experiences and the life they led. Son Joseph P. Kennedy III wrote:

Robert Kennedy had a wonderful way of allowing others to tell him how the world looked through their eyes. Indeed, so many people across this nation were grateful for his belief in their worth — they knew his faith in the humanity of his fellow Americans.

We will never fully know what the full extent of Sirhan Sirhan's robbery was. Tears stream down my face as I ponder the irony of his assassination: Sirhan was angry that Kennedy supported Israel in the Six-Day War. Yet if anyone would lend an ear to his side of the story, it was RFK. By taking him away, he ensured that hardliner after hardliner would take office and support Israel's every move, no matter how it bad they may be. (And please do not forget that I believe in that Israel's existence is essential and no less improper than the formation of any other nation. Just as I live in the US and do not agree with every American policy, I also think that Israel has some pretty shitty policies in place that should be criticized and that right-wing politicians only encourage. Sorry for this obligatory digression.)

Almost 40 years to the day, Barack Obama captured the Democratic nomination for President. While I do not believe that Obama is the second coming of RFK, I cannot help but think how appropriate it is to have him as my party's Presidential candidate. He embodies so many of the things that RFK wanted to happen, and he has some of the finest of RFK's qualities. It is a lot to ask Obama to live up to the standard set by RFK, mythologized by his untimely and horrific death. But for the first time in a long time (maybe ever), I look at a national candidate, and I feel the hope that I believe people must have felt in 1968. May it come to fruition this time around.

Like Raw Tuna

A few months ago, I went to a nice-ish restaurant near my apartment. I ordered a fresh tuna burger, rare.

"Like it might swim away," I joked to the waiter.

He looked down at me. "That is called 'black and blue,'" he sniffed.

Well, excuse me and my lack of knowledge regarding fancy foods. When I think black and blue, I think of what my right knee and elbow look like right now. (Perhaps I should not have run two miles and then spent 20 minutes on the elliptical machine after my little accident, but I didn't drag my ass to the gym just to go home and it only stung a little at the time....) However, a nice frozen tuna steak would be great to put on the injury at this moment.

Why Am I Flying Off this Treadmill?

One of my many (albeit minor) fears is that as I run on the treadmill, I will slip and somehow get sucked off. I could only imagine how incredibly painful, not to mention embarrassing, it would be as I landed on my head, knee, arm or whatever while all the pretty people at my gym just continued jogging away, pretending not to notice the klutz in the shlubby outfit. Until last night.

As usual, I approached the treadmill from slightly to the side. I looked over my shoulder to tell Husband something as I stepped onto the belt, and then I was confused. Why was I falling? Why did I fall on my arm and leg again as I tried to stand up? And damn, where was the skin that used to cover my elbow? Help! I made some sort of pathetic noises and the treadmill sucked me down. The woman on the treadmill in front of me turned around as Husband ran over and turned the treadmill off.

No, I didn't turn it on. Some motherfucker just left it running. Of course, I should have looked before I got on it, but generally I don't expect the machine to be going. "Who the fuck left this one?" I muttered. (OK, it wasn't a mutter, but more of a loud growl that everyone around me could hear.) The woman on the treadmill in front of me turned back to her machine very quickly. Uh huh. I got your number, lady.

For the record, it hurts like fuck when you fall over and over again on a treadmill. I think this must have been worse than a regular fall, since I probably would not have tried to stand up again if I knew the damn thing was on and would just throw me back down. And yes, from now on I will make very certain that the machine I step on it not already in motion. My new bruises from the incident are shaping up nicely, though.

Best.News.Ever!

No, I didn't get into the New School's MFA program (or rejected, for that matter). I also have nothing new to report about my book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track (although I did verify that it will be out in early July). I am fucking psyched because my very favorite musical of all time, Chicago's longest-running, is back for a limited time after an 8 year hiatus!!!

Yes, Co-Ed Prison Sluts will amuse, delight, and nauseate audiences once again! Man, how can you go wrong with an improv comedy musical about life in a co-ed prison? The classic songs include: Shit, Motherfucker (about swearing at people who come onto you), Eating People (about being arrested for cannibalism), and A Book Can Take You Anywhere! (about the importance of reading). And who can forget, Hey, Little Girl, the most hilarious song ever written about child molesters? (OK, the only hilarious song about that topic. It's wrong, I know.)

Somehow, I convinced Husband that we must pre-buy tickets. (He's indulging me this one last time.) Who else is coming? It's gonna be GREAT!

Our Shack

My friend Sara showed me her apartment this afternoon. When she bought it in December (January?), I saw it then, and when the renovations began a few weeks later, I saw it then, too, but there was no kitchen any more. Today, it was gorgeous, complete with a kitchen full of appliances and cabinets, a built-in entertainment system in the living room, and nicely painted bedrooms. She even has new, matching furniture. My very brown eyes turned green.

My apartment, on the other hand, is filled with junk. We've owned it for over five years now, and still only managed to paint the living room and bathroom. Husband and I furnished the space through a combination of Ikea, secondhand shops, and cast off items rescued from trash piles on the street. (I swear we recently contemplated bringing from a broken piano thrown out by a synagogue.) Our bedroom TV stand is a computer desk that broke 7 years ago when we moved it into our previous apartment. Husband's nightstand is a microwave cart that became obsolete after friends' gave us a hutch they no longer needed in their dining room. My writing desk is our former dining table. (Our new dining table is actually very nice, and we got it for a great price at Macy's.) We have two worn out couches in the living room, and two used purple leather armchairs that the prior owner's cats clawed. Need I go on?

Generally, I love our eclectic style. Today, though, I thought about how nice it would be to live somewhere that a normal 32 year old woman married to a man with a promising finance career might find acceptable. Then I remembered that although I may be a 32 year old woman married to a man with a promising finance career, I am not normal, nor is Husband. I also recalled that I am too cheap to pay for nice things. (Not that they cannot be acquired through sales), and how much I would miss the turquoise armchair stashed in a corner of our oddly-shaped dining room. My desire to acquire matching furnishings diminished, and I felt better about living in a hovel.

Murder in the Laundry Room

Are the concepts of common courtesy and sharing completely dead? I ask myself this question multiple times a day, and today is no exception. The laundry room in our building has eight driers. The building has 135 units. Of course, not everyone does their laundry (or has their maid do their laundry) at the same time. Plus, some lucky bastards have washers (which empty soapy water into my kitchen sink - grrrr) and driers in their apartments, so generally things work out in the laundry room.

Given the small number of machines, good manners dictate not monopolizing all the machines. Further, it is pretty important to take your laundry out of the drier within a few minutes of the end of the cycle. I always aim to get down a few minutes early so that I can be there when the drier stops and get my stuff out. Sometimes, I'm a little late, and once I came down 2 minutes after the load stopped and found someone had already removed my clothes and was loading hers in the drier, which I was annoyed at but understood. Hence I was furious to find someone claimed half of the driers for himself and left his laundry sitting in them for two hours. (It was done when I went down to start my wash, so I know.)

Somehow, I refrained from smoting him on the spot. I folded my towels, packed them up, and headed into the elevator. When I noticed him shuffling his two bulging laundry bags out of the corner of my eye, I even held the elevator door open for him. My good deed was rewarded with a polite, "Thank you."

There's no real point to this story except that I wish people were more considerate. Perhaps if more people were able to attend high quality early childhood programs, there would be more sharing in our society. Or maybe I remain annoyed at the person who thinks that there is no public benefit to child care. Either way, I will try and return to enjoying this splendid June day.

What Will June Bring?

Thus far, June hath wrought a Mets team that is playing baseball as opposed to whatever the hell it is they've been doing for the last few weeks. Please keep it up.

If I'm lucky, June will bring me some good news about grad school. The wait list at the New School is expected to be active until June 30. My fingers are crossed. On Wednesday, I'll be starting an 8 week prose writing course taught by the associate director of New School's MFA program, so perhaps that will help my situation. Even if it doesn't, I should at least learn a lot. I've never before taken a course like this.

If the world is fortunate, Hillary Clinton will stop embarrassing herself and drop out of the Democratic race already. She is just digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole. It's really depressing, actually.

Many things may or may not go down this month. Yeah, I'm anxious.