Crossing Over
April 4, 2008
This morning I was crossing the street at a busy intersection by an elementary school in my neighborhood. Across the street from me stood a school crossing guard, a sixty-something year old woman decked out in official “guard gear”, bundled in layers despite sunny, fifty degree temperatures. Crossing guards and homeless people never seem to dress appropriately for the seasons.
Anyway, I’m at the corner confronted with a potentially combustible combination; no traffic, an illuminated solid red “Don’t Walk” hand with an irascible crossing guard stationed just beneath. The scene played out like a classic gun fight in the old west. Only, rather than a ten gallon cowboy hat she was wearing the standard crossing guard headgear; that weird boxy thing peculiar to crossing guards and pre-1970’s nurses.
Our eyes locked. Hers squinted slightly, suggesting “I wouldn’t if I were you”. I stared back, first at her, then at the “Don’t Walk” sign, a quick glance at her white sash and badge, then back at her. I could feel my heart rate increasing and my blood pumping through my veins. I felt alive.
It was now or never; I made my move. My confident gait propelled me through the crosswalk, toward her, as if in slow motion like the cliched shot in every action movie. Chin up and jaw squared, I strutted defiantly, dismissing everything she believed in, the very tenets she had built her adult life upon. A life of rules. A life of structure and discipline. A life of crossing at the green and not in between.
I could feel her icy stare piercing through me but somehow it felt good. A voice reassured me with every step, “You’re a grown man. You’ve been crossing streets by yourself for close to thirty years. You don’t need anyone’s help or permission. You can probably buy one of those badges at a 99 cent store.”
As I arrived at her corner she looked at me with all the contempt and disdain she could muster. The trace of a smile came across my lips. She shook her head disapprovingly. I could almost hear her say “This isn’t over. We’ll meet again.”
“I hope we do.” I continued past, a dizzying mix of adrenaline and pride welling inside of me.
“I hope we do.”
Iraq Fatigue
April 1, 2008
Lately I’ve been hearing a lot about Americans suffering from “Iraq Fatigue”. The news is reporting that over sixty percent of Americans are fatigued by the war in Iraq, to say nothing of Afghanistan. I bet those numbers are even higher because, until I knew there was an actual term for it, I wasn’t even aware that I was suffering from it.
What makes the condition even more troubling is that over sixty percent of Americans can’t locate Iraq on a map, so we are fatigued by a place we can’t even find.
Rather than sit on my ass and complain I decided to do something about it. I wrote a letter to a soldier in Iraq, telling him about the situation.
Dear U.S. soldier,
I am writing to tell you how fatigued we are becoming with the war back home. I don’t know how you guys feel about the war you are fighting but we are really tired of it. You would not believe how often we have to read about it, sometimes even on the front page. Not to mention the occasional television coverage or online story. Do you have internet access over there? If so, google “Iraq War” and you’ll see what I mean. It’s ridiculous. It’s like “Alright already! We get it! There’s a war going on!” It’s exhausting. I’m telling you I’ve had about all I can stand and I am not alone.
Anyway, I figured a little taste of home would brighten your day over there. Get home soon and get home safe; America could really use the pick-me-up!
Sincerely,
Ted Alexandro
E.T. Phone Home
April 1, 2008
Elliott Spitzer is the latest politician to get busted for having an affair. John McCain was also alleged to have cheated on his wife, though not with a prostitue. Personally, I don’t care if a politician cheats on his wife. That’s why a politican’s wife is referred to as the “first lady”- you’re not the only lady, just the first. It’s built right in there.
Of course I feel badly for the wife in these situations. I can’t imagine too many things being more devastating than finding out your spouse has cheated. That said, marriage is “for better or for worse” and it looks like worse just rolled into town. I think it’s commendable to stick it out, work through it together, get counseling. Do whatever you have to do to eventually get to the point where you can look back together and laugh about it. “Remember that time I had to step down as governor because I fucked a prostitute? That was pretty funny, huh?”
I can’t imagine having to confess to your wife and then, right afterwards, to your kids. “Girls, did you hear all that screaming and glass breaking in the other room? Well, Daddy has to tell you something. Mommy is mad because Daddy spent a lot of money on something. Something that Mommy already has. A vagina. You know how sometimes you ask Daddy for money for a new outfit even though you already have a lot of perfectly good outfits? Well, that’s how Daddy felt about Mommy’s vagina. Now go play.”
While reflecting on Elliott and his gal pal, Ashley Alexandra Dupre, I was reminded of Neil Diamond’s “Heartlight”.
Come back again
I want you to stay next time
’Cause sometimes the world ain’t kind
When people get lost like you and me
I just made a friend
A friend is someone you need
But now that he had to go away
I still feel the words that he might say
He’s lookin’ for home
’Cause everyone needs a place
And home’s the most excellent place of all
And I’ll be right here if you should call me
Turn on your heartlight, Elliott. You’ll find your way home.