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Wednesday, October 08, 2003
This morning, on the other side of the continent, California will wake slowly. With heavy eyelids, the taste of stale alcohol on their tongues, smelling like smoke and spilt liquor.
As they focus their bleary eyes, they'll find themselves in an old friend's apartment. Rolling over, they'll see an all-too familiar face laying next to them, and it will dawn on them instantly, suddenly : "Oh, no. It's Governor Schwarzenegger. What the hell did I do last night?" They crossed that line, and there's no going back. Sometimes I think I have this country figured out. Maybe we're that bratty grade-school kid with a crush on the rest of the world. We don't know quite how to express it, so we'll punch them in the shoulder, tease them, call 'em names, ignore them, defy their united nations. Or we clumsily slip up in front of 'em, fumble our words, fall off the jungle gym, cockily swing a little too high, elect an action star or a failed oilman with a familiar name to run our government. All the while, everyone else is looking at us, shaking their heads, thinking ... "You silly, silly little kid ... when are you gonna grow up?"  |
 neil halstead live in cambridge, ma on november 14th, 2008 previously: joy formidable - boston 2011 recent posts on the 'nac...
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