Impermanence of objects

I last saw C-2 in June.  I last sought him via text in August, when running by Spy Pond late one night and feeling nostalgic.  He last sought me via text late one night in September, in Boston for a candidate's primary election, but it was a highly inopportune time for me and I declined.  He then e-mailed in October, also at an inopportune time, (nervily) asking me to volunteer on said candidates's general election campaign.  I declined.   Last week while in town for the general, on a night I couldn't sleep, he messaged at 2:45 to say, "Hey, you're already up, we should get coffee?"  I again declined.

Please tell me you all are pleased with my behavior. 

I'm pleased with my behavior. Especially since all denials were made without hesitation.

Funny then, my reaction when C-2 showed up in my Facebook feed this weekend -- a new profile photo, because he had gotten new eye glasses "after 8.5 years."  I found myself the tiniest bit depressed.  One thing I enjoyed about kissing him was that moment, after our respective lenses began creating a mild bonfire from scraping together, when he would stop and quite deliberately take my glasses off for me, set them on the dashboard, then take his off and do the same, at which point we'd quite get down to business.

Now those glasses have changed -- they'll never be the ones he took off to kiss me in -- and it's as if a link has expired.

Take that along with my growing conviction that (dictated by deterioration and expense) my car's registration and insurance should not be renewed in 2012, and that perhaps I should donate it for a tax deduction before Christmas.

The memories of that car ... full of so much more than kissing.

Oy.  I'm forecasting un-tiny depression, soon.

...and it's only Wednesday

It's been quite the week.

So far:

1) The New Yorker acknowledges online dating on the same day that I get a message from an OKC guy calling himself "Guy Noir."

2) Meteorologists acknowledge the following extended weather forecast for the Boston area:

Saturday, July 2: Beach Weather
Sunday, July 3: Beach Weather
Monday, July 4: Beach weather.

3)   I acknowledge that the Marine Corps Marathon is 17.75 weeks away, and if I'm going to do an 18-week training plan I'd better start running, even if it is Beach Weather.

4) Biking to work today, circling around on Trinity Place towards the Stuart Street Starbucks, I nearly knock over House Speaker John Boehner of Ohio (dressed in a golf shirt and emerging from a town car), relieved the state troopers flanking him didn't think I was doing it on purpose.

Another reason I'm glad to not be on Twitter...

Since you can't open any website in the Western world this week without reading about Anthony Weiner, the Congressman from New York and his body photos (naked chest with no head as a pick-up technique, of course!) and his wronged wife and now-wronged political career ....

.... and this here blog focuses on body photos and silly men and wronged women and how politics could (or so far, has not) save my dating life ....

I don't feel strongly on the subject of this man and his life and his ability to be in Congress, truly. This is not because he's a Democrat and I'm mad because I don't want Democrats to be caught being so patently stupid. It's my conviction, cliched as it is, that there are more important things than the story of a man sending sex messages to a woman not his wife and lying about it, as if it doesn't happen 5 million times a day, in patently more tasteless and debasing ways.

In fact, on Monday when breaking news flashes began popping about the press conference where he admitted to his indiscretions, I just wanted it all to go away. I managed to avoid reading about it at all until yesterday, when every pundit with a command of English had something to say, and curiosity overcame reticence. In doing so I came across Salon.com blogger Glenn Greenwald -- who I also usually avoid because of his general over-the-topness, despite obvious intelligence -- and was glad I did, because I found his take on it (first paragraph below) summing up well my current opinion:

"There are few things more sickening -- or revealing -- to behold than a D.C. sex scandal. Huge numbers of people prance around flamboyantly condemning behavior in which they themselves routinely engage. Media stars contrive all sorts of high-minded justifications for luxuriating in every last dirty detail, when nothing is more obvious than that their only real interest is vicarious titillation. Reporters who would never dare challenge powerful political figures who torture, illegally eavesdrop, wage illegal wars or feed at the trough of sleazy legalized bribery suddenly walk upright -- like proud peacocks with their feathers extended -- pretending to be hard-core adversarial journalists as they collectively kick a sexually humiliated figure stripped of all importance. The ritual is as nauseating as it is predictable."

It plays well into my opinion that public figures never do well to kick other public figures; it leaves them baldly open to ridicule when they, too, are found to have sinned. The folks all excited about kicking Weiner out of a job (see: Dems and Repubs and media figures alike who let another Congressional Rep, Michelle Bachmann, run around spouting nonsense daily, unchecked) should have to come clean about their own extracurricular sex lives. If only all our personal foibles were so harshly dissected as this one ... and if politicians were routinely held accountable for actions that actually affect anyone besides the people directly involved.  Weiner has been serving the constitutents of NYC in Congress for 12 years .... New York City, folks ... and this is the only thing he can be accused of doing that warrants resignation?

My friend Jodi posted on Facebook today yet another great take -- from Undecided, a blog written by a friend in Santa Barbara, which also cites a compelling Time magazine article -- expressing amazement at that Weiner's chest and jockey shorts get more attention than broader issues of sexism:

"If this were the sort of country where the women of Yale and Walmart were given as much play as Weiner’s weiner, where corporate pay–and maternity–policy demonstrated that women were valued, well, I wonder if powerful men–and the women they sext–would behave any differently. And I wonder this, too: What’s it going to take, to make substance as sexy as scandal?"

For a more humorous take, check out TV My Wife Watches, where I knew Evan would have to weigh in on something both media and chest-related .... even though he is usually discussing women's chests. He hired a guest blogger to dissect Weiner's indiscretions in his "Wednesday's Wifey" feature, and as a long-time online dater, I couldn't help but agree with her incredulity:

"Many of his online girlfriends have confirmed that their cyber-relationships started off with simple conversation starters like 'you’re hot' or 'wow what a stud.'

"Is that honestly all it takes to seduce a man!? I’ve been trying to figure out men for SO LONG. A little bit of leg but not too much. Let him know you’re smart but also a little vulnerable. When he walks you home, just pop your nipple out for a second. Easy on the fart jokes. And all this time, the only thing I've ever had to do is say 'Wow, you're hot'!?"

And finally: this.

Anyway. Probably enough discussion of a subject I didn't think warranted discussion.

OKC is good for something ....

.... yeah, and that would be the occasional laugh brought on by sheer increduility at what their employees choose to do with the billion pieces of user-provided information they can sort and twist in any way they want in order to create entries for the site's "research blog":  OKTrends.

Topics of yore: 

"How Your Race Affects the Messages You Get." 
"Gay Sex vs. Straight Sex."
"The Case for an Older Woman."

Most recent topic: "The Best Question for a First Date:

"This post is our attempt to end the mystery. We took OkCupid's database of 275,294 match questions—probably the biggest collection of relationship concerns on earth—and the 776 million answers people have given us, and we asked:  What questions are easy to bring up, yet correlate to the deeper, unspeakable, issues people actually care about?"

Essentially, as they say later on, "the shallow stuff to ask when you want to know something deep."

I'll leave it to you to read for your own gems of wisdom.  I, personally, have laughed until pain every time I have read this paragraph, which is only provided to give background context.

 First--define "easy to bring up"

"Before we could go looking for correlations to deeper stuff, our first task was to decide which questions were even first-date appropriate. I know each person has his own opinion on what's okay to talk about with a stranger. I also know that if I had to wade through hundreds of thousands of user-submitted questions like these verbatim examples:

Q: If you were to be eaten by cannibal, how would you like to be prepaired?
Q: do u own 3 or more dildos in your room?
Q: Do you hsve a desent job?

"I would go f***ing insane. The basic currency of the Internet is human ignorance, and, frankly, our database holds a strong cash position!"

Do read.  I mean, considering my angst-filled 2-year history with the site, if it can still provide something to joke about, you're going to have to trust me that it does.

It also, as always, reminds us all how much FUN! dating is.

Close call

My candidate did not win yesterday.  Furthermore, the candidate who prevailed was, in the eyes of my fellow campaigners and me, the least desirable choice of the 3 remaining.

(Think:  George W. Bush of the Southie Democrats. On multiple intellectual levels.   And that's not meant as a compliment.)

I hit up the post-election gathering about 10:15, having had a church meeting to attend first.  I was glad I hadn't been there the whole time:  the mood was bleak.  Most folks had been drinking, hugging and commiserating since 7:30, and the stereo blasted heavy metal power ballads. 

After hugging and commiserating with Mike, I grabbed a Sam and a slice of congealed pepperoni pizza and sat down with a group of ladies.   Conversation had turned to the cuteness factor of someone's pet dog.  Soon, I got into a more involved chat with my immediate neighbor -- a woman my age, who I've known for a couple years but have never really known much about. 

Talk turned to our respective careers. 

She said:  she works in Copley Square. 
I said:  I did the same. 

She said: she works in educational publishing. 
I said:  I once went on several dates with a man in educational publishing who also worked in Copley Square. 

She asked: what his name was.
(Before I could answer)
She asked: if my date's name was (the real name of) The Editor. 

I hesitated.
(Because it, indeed, was.)
(Man of the loaner scarf.)

I asked:  if he were short, bald and Jewish.
She said: no.  Tall, blond.  Made New Jersey jokes.

I remembered: The Editor moved here from New Jersey.

(But said nothing more.)
(Wanting to take no more chances.)

Agreeing to (ahem) disagree

Biking up Stuart Street at 8:30 this morning, traffic was dead-stopped.  I didn't remember why until I righted onto Charles Street and cruised by an idling bus wrapped in this banner:

Yippee. 

But, I remembered that a friend noted on his Facebook page yesterday that he was attending a counter-rally today, also on the Common, that looks more like this:

I'm a fan of free speech and political engagement, but not of the Tea Party as political movement and the resulting irrationality of some involved (i.e. Obama as Hitler, the "Pro-Life, Pro-Gun, Pro-God Veteran. A Right-Wing Extremist Who Won't Apologize" signage). Not a fan of Palin, particularly. 

But even if I was, I was overcome by the brilliant creativity of this tea party's approach.  Folks taking back the definition.  Embracing the tenets of "good tea, good food, beautiful clothing, beautiful china and linens, and inoffensiveness," to wit:

"My ideal would be for the press to come up to interview people about their opinions on tax policies and health care, and have responses such as, "Oh, dear, isn't that a rather personal question?" and, "Really, I prefer not to discuss politics over tea. Would you care for a cup?"

Maybe I've just been reading too many of Joan Didion's late-1960's essays about San Francisco lately, but I love this.  Not exactly putting daisies in gun barrels, but not yelling obscenities.

It's a moment where I remember that I live in a scarily interesting city and am glad to do so.

I have a friend who is politically in the same camp as me, and yesterday we e-mailed about this series of protests and counterprotests.  He had posted the polite link to his Facebook page, attaching it to a comment about "teabagging."  Which, he said:  "resulted in several Obamahaters taking offense at the use of the term followed by various quotes of gandhi and our founding fathers ...

Him: in a rare move i deleted and reposted the link saying "For those of you attending this week's Tea Party" as i decided its funnier on its own

Me: You're facebook friends with Obamahaters?

Him: i have friends of all shapes and sizes - makes it more fun

Also, at some point, this:

Him: there have to be people we disagree with otherwise we'll die of boredom

Of course.

It's a Wednesday morning in April.  The magnolia trees are blooming. The sun shines.  Helicopters are circling the park.  Tea of all kinds is being either drunk or listed on tagboard signs or symbolically dumped in the harbor. 

It's a good day to disagree in Boston.

D = 5C = 10L = 50X = 500I

Today is Single in the City Blog Post #500.

(One benefit of personal drama: it makes you forget about the big picture. It didn't occur to me until this morning, on the #9, that I was facing an anniversary I hadn't in the least contemplated. Which meant I don't get to stress over it in a I-haven't-yet-done-my-2009-Christmas-cards-fashion. Now that's personal progress.)

It seems a good moment to reflect briefly on what I've taken away from 22 months of self-reflection:

1) I would greatly benefit from strings for my mittens.

2) My nephew is now and will probably always be better looking than any of the men I've dated.

Henry (18 mos.) in Florida, February 2010

3) I will probably never again have as nice of a body as I did on my 36th birthday. I'm still sad about this.

4) My time-management skills are eroding every day.

5) Self-challenges with deadlines have been by the far the most effective way at getting me to eat better, exercise better, date better, and write this blog. But not, as you well know, sleep better. That might be the lifelong rock in my shoe.

6) Politics have not yet saved my dating life and, now firmly entrenched in my friend Mike's campaign for Massachusetts State Rep, wonder if I should still be asking the question.

7) I have more boy friends than girl friends and wonder if that has anything to do with the fact that I'm still single.

8) OKC has been wonderful. OKC has been a time suck. OKC has introduced me to several of the more interesting people I'll ever meet. Perhaps it's OK that I signed up.

9) I've done well to write the first female dating blog that doesn't consistently reference Jane Austen novels. Yet. Just 2 weeks ago I picked up Sense and Sensibility for the first time. I can see I am forever attracted to Willoughbys and have no time for Colonel Brandons. I'm well aware it took a near-death fever illness for Marianne Dashwood to see the light. I've been wondering lately what it will take for me.

10) I may be still be single, but I'm a better date than I was 500 blog entries ago. I hope.

Motivation

Twenty days from today I plan to be in Washington DC, sparkly and lively, dressed to impress.

(Maybe a blonde too, yes.)

I've told you previously about my college buddy, Alan, who was elected president of the National Press Club. Who will be inaugurated during a black-tie gala on January 30 that is, naturally, at the same time, an irreverent tribute to the Midwest and Great Plains.

Sounds like my kind of party. Especially since there will be other folks from Minnesota, several from college who I haven't seen since college. Which is why I was pleased and honored to be invited to attend.

Which means I need to get my cocktail-dress mojo on, stat.

Because my default behavior at this moment generally involves Reeses Pieces and staying up until 3 a.m., wanting to look and feel good at my friend's gala is the best possible motivation to get back on track. I've mapped out a rigorous 3-week exercise routine. Mapped out a rigorous vegetable-eating plan and bought the groceries to fulfill it. Made my bed with fresh sheets and topped it with a fleece blanket to make it the desirable place to be on butt-cold January evenings, rather than at a bar adding calories and sleeplessness via beer consumption.

Tonight I'm going browsing at Lord & Taylor, to find further motivation in purchasing an evening gown for the first time since 2003.

And as always, I will make this blog a bastion of accountability.

And always, if I screw up, you will know about it.

But I'm hopeful I won't .... hopefulness being essential to the cocktail-dress mojo.

Cruisin'

So I'm headed out tonight on a Summer Music Cruise around Boston Harbor.

Yes. A Booze Cruise.

(Yes, under a forecast of "numerous showers and scattered thunderstorms this evening .... may produce small hail and heavy rainfall ....")

Eh. Why not live dangerously. Drink. Meet new folks. Maybe get struck by lightning. A perfect Wednesday night.

I'm happy to report that this outing, a fundraiser for the South Boston Neighborhood House, came to my attention thanks to a product liability attorney who has become a friend -- one of the Obama campaign organizers I met last fall. Mike lives a block away in Southie, so we see each other frequently on the #9 bus or walking Broadway on the weekends or at the South Bay Plaza Target.

Mike is also a man about Southie .... whenever I see him, he is on his way to a fundraiser or a community meeting or a campaign event. He's gregarious and open. He once took me to Saturday breakfast at Mul's. He has gotten me in the mood to participate in neighborhood improvement projects, which I've done far too little of in my 10 years in town.

I wrote Mike earlier this afternoon since I am clad in a lime-colored cotton sundress and wedgy sandals and had read the above-referenced forecast. He replied thusly:

M: Yes, the cruise is still on. The hourly forecast on weather.com is hopeful - only cloudy, temperatures around 60, and winds at about 10 mph.

K: OK, I bought a ticket and am bringing my windbreaker .... I'm holding you to the forecast!

M: :) I'll buy you a martini if I am wrong.

Then, about 10 minutes later.

M: Bring that windbreaker, we might have some light showers to start off our three-hour tour.... our three-hour tour. How do you like your martinis?"

I'm writing this much now, in case we pull a Gilligan's Island.

A fuller report will follow after-hours .... perhaps with a cosmo or 2 in my bloodstream ... and perhaps from the ubiquitous rain-drenched patio ....

Inauguration wrap-up....

In scanning my writing of the last few days, I noticed many a "more later" (cop-out) caveat at the end of the various entries about the Obama inauguration. As if I couldn't be troubled to provide reflection on a fairly major event of our time.

Hmm. By now, everyone and their dog has provided some reflection on this fairly major event of our time.....if they were there, it was about being there; if they were not, it was about not being there. That is the pitfall of fairly major events. It's difficult to say anything original when the whole world is talking with you.

But at the risk of copping out by saying nothing, I'll list two favorite moments.

1) This. Not having read ahead about what was on the inaugural program, this was a beautiful surprise...moreso than even Aretha Franklin's hat. A girl next to me in the crowd said, "I never thought I'd get to see Yo-Yo Ma perform in my lifetime!" Me too. At the time, my toes were icecubes from standing for 5 hours on the frozen tundra....and the sight of these folks sitting bare-headed and smiling in the breeze contributed to the chill (and the chills as coolness) factor.

2) This. Shortly after the ceremony, I stood on Constitution Avenue, waiting for Cousin J to finish using the port-a-potty....when I heard the whirring of blades and motor and looked up to see a gigantic helicopter directly above.

The folks about me started waving and cheering, so I started waving and cheering too, not realizing that it was former President Bush (43) already on his way to Camp David....and on his further way to Texas.....within 45 minutes of the Obama's oath.

No one told me I'd actually get to wave goodbye to W. Definitely worth the 18 hours of driving....and getting up at 6 a.m. to bike into a crowd of 2 million people....and the resulting frozen toes....and being just plain cold for 5 straight days.

And, of course, worth being in D.C. for that one day....before everyone wants to know what Obama is going to acheive and how fast he's going to achieve it and what he will possibly screw up and who he'll screw over....where the prevailing emotion was joy.

Remainders: Obama '08 Post-Mortem

What I'll miss most: The blogs of Ben Smith-D and Jonathan Martin-R of politico.com, which caused 64 straight days of sleep deprivation.

What I'll miss least: Sarah Palin's accent.

Second-least?: sleep deprivation.

Best reason to have volunteered for the Obama campaign: Duh.

Second-best reason to have volunteered for the Obama campaign: having a gaggle of tired, crazy neighbors to hug when Ohio was called at 9:28 p.m. Mike, Pat, Chris, Mary Alice, Meghan, Bev, Nadine. Black, white, young, old.

Most stunned and in tears at 11:04 p.m.

Best place for results-party beer: The Seapoint on East 8th Street, Southie

Best results-party drink combination: 3 pints of Smithwicks and a shot of Jack Daniels to celebrate Florida going blue.

Best overheard comment from fellow volunteer while watching results (sometime during the second round of beverage): "Look at those f***ing margins! Look at those f***ing margins!"

Number of straight, single men met while campaigning the last 2 months: 0

Number of straight, single men under the age of 65 at the post-voting party (with all teeth present): 0

So did politics save my dating life? Anyone care to comment?

(Although I now have an extensive bank of of David Brooks quotations....maybe I could attract some centrist Republicans... )

What I'm going to do now: Date? What's a date? Perhaps it's time to remember.

Late nights, early mornings (cont.)

Today, 6:00 a.m.:

Biked to the gym. Ran 3 miles through the Back Bay with a 12 other women from the gym. Kept up with the fastest one and finished a minute ahead of everyone. Proved lack of arm strength during subsequent strong-arm power yoga class for 45 minutes. Picked up a very tall coffee and hit the office.

Then spent the rest of the workday propping open proverbial eyelids. Wow. This is some tired like I haven't known since pulling journalistic all-double-nighters back at the Pipestone County Star. And that was 10 years ago.

(Guess I failed to mention that I stayed up until 2 a.m. last night. Ugh.)

Tomorrow, 6:30 a.m.:

Going to try and put my mouth where my heart is and spend the day campaigning for the candidate who will-not-be-named because you know who he is. My Southie gang is doing what's called "visibility" during rush hour at (i.e., obnoxious sign-waving) at South Station, the major transit center feeding Boston's Financial District. Later, after doing my real job for awhile, I'll go back and be one of those phone-banking types. Then hopefully tomorrow night will find some folks with a television who want to drink beer and watch returns.

Long day ahead.

It's good this thing will be over soon. Not just for the tension and oversaturation and perpetual fatigue, but because it's just ugly.

Leaving the office tonight, I stepped into my manager's office. I had already cleared this half day-off tomorrow for election stuff, which he approved last week without comment. He is one of the most affable and practical people in my life. We've worked together for 5 years and in that time, had maybe 3 unpleasant exchanges.

Tonight was number 4. Started when, as I reminded him I'd be in late tomorrow, he quipped:

"Yeah, working hard to see Obama lose?"

I wasn't about to back off and sniped back. He returned fire, and we both started yelling. Fifteen long minutes later he walked to the elevator, calling over his shoulder:

"I'll see you Wednesday, after you've been crying all Tuesday night. You're going to be so disappointed."

Sorry man, I was disappointed tonight. Why this inability to just have a civil discussion?

That's what I get, I guess, for trying to be a Democrat in finance.

Here's to a hopeful (and more well-rested) Tuesday.

Monday-morning humility

So........a Sunday night.......with wine, wine and more wine.

It stands to reason that after such a fruit-full evening, I would wake up post-8 a.m. and remember that Monday is a street cleaning day and I'm parked on a Monday block. Cue up the mad running down Dorchester Street, once again.

What a joy upon getting there to discover the Mazda's right back tire flat to the ground. The conspiracy theorist in me posits that a slasher took umbrage with my Obama '08 bumper sticker, which I stuck on the back bumper last Thursday...the last time I drove it, when all four tires were still full of air.

Or else it was just the tire's time to die. Sigh.

So I went back to my apartment to pick up my backpack, strap on boots, head to the bus. Only to realize that my wallet wasn't in my backpack. After another round of frantic conspiracy-theorizing with my cats about Republicans, I realized I had left it on my friend's dining room table last night....after returning from the liquor store with the bottles of wine.

Which then meant I had to scrounge the change mug for bus fare.... and then an additional $1.45 in nickels to pay for a muffin on the way....as I had socialized the night before rather than grocery shopped, and therefore had nothing to eat for breakfast and no other money in hand to buy something.

Humbled, thrice. Amen.

Small City, Part II

Of course you understand that other than the small matter of wanting to help elect my candidate for President.....I wouldn't mind getting a spot or two of dating action from all this political involvement.

(I mean, let's be honest. It's great to volunteer and all. For anything service-oriented. But a single lady isn't a single lady if she doesn't admit that a wee smidgen of her interest is to meet a generous, selfless, looking-good-in-his-jeans-on-the-weekend bachelor. Hey, check this out!)

So far in my Southie for Obama phase, I have met several married men and several more gay men in their 40s. Which, as an upshot, takes any potential sexual tension out of canvassing and allows us to focus on the issues....

Saturday's trip to New Hampshire brought an additional surprise, however. You heard me mention that while at volunteer headquarters, I was randomly paired with Tom from Dorchester for street-combing purposes. Mid-40s, gay, about 6'4" with a face like a young Frank Langella...super-friendly and passionate about the task. We got along easily. We also made an effective pair: he had the nerve to knock on the doors, I had the secretarial skills to track the data and the memory to remember all the questions.

Tom gave me a ride back to Boston, during which he opined vociferously on all things election related. So it wasn't until 2 minutes before he dropped me off that I had the chance to mention (why? who knows?) that for several years, several years earlier, I had waited tables at Legal Sea Foods in Park Square. Tom gasped with recognition.

"No way! Did you know a guy named F__?

I did know a guy named F___. In fact, we had been friends for some time. I lent F____ a pile of my favorite books when he was suffering from extended illness. I went to watch him onstage as a professional actor. I had been to an Academy Awards-watching party at F___'s home back in 2002....the one he shared with Tom from Dorchester....as his then-boyfriend of five years.

F____'s ex-boyfriend as my random canvassing buddy. Go figure.

I'd say that coincidence, at least temporarily, makes up for the lack of single, straight men spending their weekends on the road for Obama.....

Good things come to those who take their time

I came home this evening to find an unfortunate piece of mail waiting: official confirmation of my participation in the Medtronic Twin Cities Marathon (The Most Beautiful Urban Marathon in America) on Sunday, October 5. As the cover proclaims: "this confirmation booklet must be presented to pick up your race number."

Ah. In reality, this confirmation represents a non-refundable $95 registration fee for a race in which I can't compete. If you just joined us, last week I began running after a 3-month hiatus nursing plantar fasciitis in both feet. More recently, both knees ache as if attached to a retired MLB catcher's thighs. I can't run the 2.8-mile Longfellow-Harvard loop on the Charles without pain....although it is improving.

The confirmation represents rashness. I registered for the Twin Cities just days after finishing the 2008 Boston. Ha! Waiting an extra week to see if my legs would be up for it with injuries? Pshaw. But I was afraid registration would close without me. For that, here I sit -- not only can't I run in the race, but I have to pay for it. And I have to read all about it because certainly they will continue bombarding me with literature on it for the next four weeks.

However. My weekend is shaping up beautifully on a number of other fronts because, for reasons ranging from coincidental to brave, I kept my powder dry.

1) A date. I think, anyway. The CFO has been wicked busy since Labor Day, he said, writing his mea culpa e-mail after being offline for 9 days. He wants to be social....with me....soon. I am agitating, once again, for martinis and shellfish at B&G Oysters, since I now have the Medal of Female Patience pinned to my breast.

2) Recognition. My favorite theater company, The Longwood Players, just took home 8 awards at the Eastern Massachusetts Association of Community Theaters award gala tonight. Including best musical direction and ensemble for She Loves Me, a show in April on which I was the assistant musical director.

For three years I've also been this group's rehearsal pianist.....a no-pay job taking up evenings for months at a time. This isn't necessarily my big Boston Musical Break Moment. But it was fun to get a slab of glass with "best"-something engraved on it....in a scene this big and talented.

3) Big-time B.O. So for two election cycles I have resisted door-to-door canvassing for presidential candidates. This is sheer fear, my friends, of being seen as an agent of harassment. But as you know, I've been sucked into a Southie for Obama volunteer group.....and I don't know if it was the Bud Lite or the camaraderie or the nausea at the political blogosphere that converted me at our meeting Tuesday night: I agreed to drive to New Hampshire tomorrow to do that which I most hate.

And lo, just today, from campaign headqarters: news that the candidate and his running mate, themselves, are holding a rally in Manchester, the very town I was to canvass.

So not only do I get to hear Barack Obama and Joe Biden speak in person, the rally is replacing the canvassing.

Score another point for patience.

Irony. Levity.

After staying up into the wee hours to write a missive about gut feelings when relationships are ending, I was pleased to click on the NY Times this morning and see that columnist Thomas Friedman has written a column using that same, visceral word. His argument is a horse of another color, of course, but does says much about the last 10 days in the election cycle, and gives a good theory for why my man seems to be swimming upstream against a tide of insignificant diversions:

"If you as a politician connect with voters on a gut level, they will follow you anywhere and not fret about the details. If you don’t connect with them on a gut level, you can’t show them enough details. Obama early on, and particularly with young people, connected on a gut level like no other politician since Ronald Reagan.

But in recent weeks, I feel as though he has lost that gut connection....Forget trashing McCain’s ideas. If Obama wants to rally his base, he has to be more passionate about his own ideas. I have long felt that what propelled Obama early was the fact that many Americans understand in their guts that we need a change, but the change we need is to focus on nation-building at home. We’re in decline. We need to get back to work on our country. And that is going to require strong, smart government."

Incidentally, I spent several hours last night at a trendy A-street condo for a call-a-thon with the Southie Volunteers for Obama. There were about 20 of us, all ages, armed with cell phones and lists of other folks in South Boston who might want to be recruited to volunteer. It was good to meet some friendly neighbors, and talk to more on the phone. The group of us made 363 calls to mostly positive response, and persuaded me that I should join them canvassing in Manchester, NH this weekend.

Political affiliations aside, it was a reminder that I should get more involved in my neighborhood, period. New friends are nice. New friends who live down the street are even nicer. New friends who live down the street who agree with your political views, of course, are the best! :-)

(Just wanted to act like a teenager for a couple minutes. Thanks.)

Meanwhile, I promised to not abuse this space with nepotism, but here is the latest on Henry. After all this drivel about love and politics, who doesn't love these baby blues?

(Especially if you're a Democrat....?!)

Single in the City

***Note: Early Thursday morning I had wicked insomnia. Wicked. Until 4:30 a.m. and even then it wasn't good sleep. Something to do with eating a half-batch of chocolate-chip cookie dough and digesting comments on every politically-affiliated story on the New York Times website on a politically significant night. Somewhere in the midst I wrote the entry below but my computer battery bailed before I could post. Today I read it and am not sure I mean all of it. But I did sign up for the Obama event and, as of Thursday night, still plan to go.

Readers of this blog.....you know my political affiliation, as clearly as I wear it, but I've been determined to not get into drag-out partisan battles in this space. It is about the ups and down of dating.

Tonight, speakers at the Republican National Convention made me feel soiled for being a) educated; b) living in a city of diverse cultures; and c) a member of the media. They were sarcastic, angry, and mocking. They appealed to the basest instincts of fear. And what troubles me the most is the joyous manner in which the crowd egged on their anger.

I have to put in a plug for the RNC, though, because I suspect their anger may fuel my social life. Never before have I wanted to get more involved in a political campaign than this moment....Republican party leaders drive to make us fear each other has driven me to want to fight the fear.

I signed up today for an Obama in Massachusetts organizing event this weekend. To learn to knock on doors, make phone bank calls. Both of which I dislike.....but think I owe it to myself to try. And who knows, maybe I'll meet some folks who aren't so damn angry.

Note to self

Barack Obama Presidential Nomination Acceptance Speech Watch Party: generally, great place to meet men.

The Alchemist in Jamaica Plain's Barack Obama Presidential Nomination Acceptance Speech Watch Party, in which the seemingly only two straight men in the crowd, standing directly in front of me, blatantly picked up the seemingly only other straight women as I looked on: generally, not a great place to meet men.

But hey. The evening wasn't a total waste. Obama accepted the Democractic nomination. And the bartender was cute.

Can Barack, in addition to becoming the nominee, also get me a date?

My emotions have been immersed this week in the machinations of the Democratic National Convention with Hillary Clinton and her diehards, Barack Obama, et al.

Most of you know I've grown opinionated about politics in my early-middle age, and that back in February, I spent Super Tuesday in a downpour outside of Southie's Broadway T, holding an Obama sign and yelling at passing cars. And that I could probably get into a fistfight with anyone who defends George W. Bush in the slightest.

Oh, wait. Already did that.

Nonetheless, I realized today that this interest has dating potential that I didn't earlier think of. I just logged on to my.barackobama.com to see that there are 41 "Convention Watch Parties" in the Boston area on August 28 for the Obama nomination acceptance speech. Many include cocktails, all involve large groups of Democrats. Some of the locales are bars I've wanted to try -- Vinalia in the Financial District, The Alchemist in JP -- and these gatherings HAVE to include some men who who will be in a good mood about their man Barack and will want to talk about it.

A strategy for tomorrow night!

Meanwhile, tonight, I'm just going to enjoy Date #3d--yes, finally! a d!--with the CFO. Not purposely avoiding Bill Clinton's speech by going to probably the only bar in the US of A without a television: the venerable Wally's Cafe on Mass Ave. (All jazz all the time, baby.) Also not purposely avoiding the "where do you stand?" conversation with the CFO. Since he is a certified Deadhead and used to work for public television, I'm hedging which way he might lean.

But I'm also trying to take the advice of a few folks who, after the Stand-Up Comedian debacle, suggested that it doesn't hurt to keep the emPHAsis on the right sylLAHble when you first start dating....the romantic, good-kissing part of it.

So far, that's tonight's strategy.