Where does the good go

In Elephant’s Clothing

In Elephant’s Clothing

What’s that saying about walking a mile in another person’s shoes?
Well, I wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds in these, but the rest of my evening as a Republican went fairly smoothly.
It started out fairly low-key with a ride in the pimped out Al Curtis Kia-mobile (complete with roll down windows, manual door locks and a long metal antennae that allows the vehicle’s occupants to hear Roosevelt’s fireside chats.)
Karol’s flat on the upper east side was the first stop.
We pulled up to a spot right in front of her building and parked at the first meter (this’ll be important later).
Having forgotten to check my cellphone voicemail for a few days, I was busy deleting scores of death threats and hate messages before heading inside.
I love visiting Karol and Peter because their building is one of those fancy NYC high rises with driveways and doormen.
Even their elevators are the really snazzy ones with two lights: one that illuminates red for a down elevator and a white one for an up elevator. I mention it only because everytime I visit Karol and the red light comes on she says “that’s going down.” So I assume this ability to distinguish the up and down elevators is a source of pride for the building’s residents and that they want observers to share that information with others.
We spent about an hour watching some old Annette Funicello musical with Peter (really somebody please hire this boy.)
Suddenly it dawned on me that Karol hadn’t put any money in the meter. Amazed that the Upper East side residents got free parking, even during rush hours, I said:
“So, how long can you just park there?”
From the wild-eyed gasping, I deduced that the answer was, not at all.
Peter went dashing out the apartment clutching two quarters in his fist. About fifteen minutes later, he came back up, out of breath and sweating.
“The cop was already writing the ticket.”
“No way! Stop lying.”
He held up the two coins between his fingers as proof.
“I ran up to him and he said he had already started writing it, so I might as well keep my quarters.”
“Wow. I am so psychic. I must have sensed the car was in danger.”
“Well, I would have made it in time, but when I got in the elevator it went all the way up first.”
I wondered if this was a good time to tell him about the red light and the white light…but something told me no.
Finally after hours of primping, we were off to the evening’s main events. To wit: A Republican art show, a George W. Bush meetup and then a blogger meet ‘n greet.
The art show was, appropriately enough a few blocks from Ground Zero.
Frightened by flashing police lights and a few barricades, Karol decided to play it safe and park several miles away — (I’m trying to think of a good analogy for non-New Yorkers…how about if the art show was in Florida, we parked the Kia-mobile in Maine…) As we hiked back to the art show, I realized that she was probably just embarrased by the car. On the way we passed Spot on commenter Bob m, who evidently works in the area.
At the entryway of the art show was a patchwork quilt made up of flags from all around the world. I spotted Panama’s and gave a shout out.
Then the horror began.
Scene after scene of bloody battles, with modern-day Republicans like Rudy Giuliani recast in the role of Gabriel slaying the serpent or Theseus slaughtering the Minotaur.
Bald eagles were drawn ten times their sizes with claw like talons capturing terrorists. Fighter jets jutted out of images of the American flag.
You couldn’t throw a stone without hitting a painting of Ronald Reagan.
But the crowning glory was a painting of George W. Bush — at least 8 feet tall — delivering the knock out blow to Michael Moore — at least 8 feet wide– in a boxing ring. His gloves were stars and striped and red,white and blue.
It was dizzying. A couple of bloggers met us down there.
“Oh, you’re crazy old Dawn Summers.”
Sleep with one eye-open, Michael Moore blog brother Ken Wheaton.
“A friend of mine is going to be meeting us here.”
“Great. Cool.”
“Umm…well…she’s…” he leaned in closer and dropped his voice to a whisper “a liberal.”
Karol nodded in sympathetic understanding — “yeah, well, Dawn’s here too. Honestly, I don’t think anyone has noticed yet.”
Hmm…what does she mean by that. What happens if someone notices?
Fortunately, I never found out. Once his friend arrived, we all decided to head out to get something to eat before the meet-up.
At the door, we realized that since the Kia-mobile was parked in northern Siberia, we probably didn’t have enough time to get to it and to eat, if we wanted to make it to the meet-up.
And believe me, we wanted to make it to the meet-up.
So the group split up, with Spot On commenter Vanessa joining Karol and I in the Kia.
The meet-up was on the West side of Manhattan, so obviously, Karol decided to take the East-side highway to get there.
Between the traffic on the FDR and the crosstown traffic, we reached the meet-up location with about ten minutes until it ended, and we hadn’t even looked for parking yet.
So, we decided to head straight to bloggerpolooza.
On the way, we were listening to Biggie Smalls and singing along.
“I’d be scared to go to a rap concert,” Vanessa says from the backseat.
“You know, rap violence.”
“What about a Nelly concert.
“No, I’d still be scared. He’s like …I don’t know”
“Dude, Nelly is like on the cover of Teen Beat every month,” but now, I was curious.
“What about a New Edition concert?”
Still no dice.
Hootie and the Blowfish?
“I’m not racist. I wouldn’t go to a heavy metal concert either.”
By the time we reached the bar, she was telling me about her best friends that were black and Karol and I were in hysterics.
“Never try to prove to Dawn that you’re not a racist. Just accept proudly and move on.”
A couple of bloggers were already there when we arrived, notably Stephen Silver and Ken Wheaton.
(Everyone should know that Ken absolutely loves “The Da Vinci Code.” He would not stop going on and on about how he’s read it like five times and it changed his life.)
Stephen was very cool and I want to welcome him back to civilization after his years of Hoboken exile. (P.S. I am not her sidekick! If anything, she is my sidekick.)
Also I finally met Madonna!! After years of listening to her music and watching her videos. I must say, she is much more down-to-earth and nice in person.
Doug, Jessica, Lisa, Ari, Peter, Mike D. and Scott were also there.
But the guests of honor were definitely Candace and Gib. Although, I didn’t get to buy Gib a drink, I made good on my income-redistribution-through-alcohol promise to candace. She in turn made good on her promise to wear stiletto stilts.
Candace reminded me a great deal of Karol circa 1992, she even hated my outfit and told me what to wear the next time she sees me. Ahh, the memories.
Of course, she is way cooler than Karol and much, much nicer and when I grow up I wanna be her now…except for the crazy political views.
I left shortly after midnight and right after the inter-racial dancefloor orgy which I am fairly certain that Karol and Ari started. Or maybe Oschisms did it.
It was early, but at least I outlasted Old Man Wheaton who was in bed by ten and missed the arrival
of Sexless.

Candace and I had a great time mocking him after he left.
Stay tuned for Part II on Wednesday.

Karol wrote about it too.

And Candace.

And now Gib.

And Madonna.

and Mike.

7 Responses to “In Elephant’s Clothing”

  1. ken Says:

    You are so going to hell for that DaVinci code comment. Sooooooooo, going to hell.

  2. Peter Says:

    Not for nothing, but I didn’t ride up in the elevator on my way down to put money in the meter. I said I had to wait for the elevator to go all the way up to the top floor, but I didn’t get in the elevator until it was on it’s way back down.

  3. Dawn Summers Says:

    So you stood there for seven minutes, doing *nothing* while the cop wrote out a ticket?

  4. Peter Says:

    No, the cop didn’t start to write the ticket until I was on my way out of the building.

  5. candace Says:

    I loved your outfit! But after seeing you in pink last night, I like it so much more. And damn, woman, who you killin’ with that smile?

  6. Dawn Summers Says:

    I just do what I’m told.

  7. Anonymous Says:

    I never said RAP VIOLENCE!!! And I also “clarified” my opinion that I would be afraid to attend a Guns N Roses Concert or OZ Fest….grrrrr…..

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