Thursday, November 06, 2008

Obama Wins, Prop 8 passes. Happy, Sad. Amazing, Amazing.

Mark and I voted at 11am on Tuesday. We didn't experience the long lines that others did. We just walked right into someone's garage up in the hills. There were tennis rackets on the walls and everything. Also, I had never voted in California before. You vote on something like a scantron here, and stamp ink into bubbles. Kooky. Fun.

Later we met Anne Marie and Abe at a bar in North Hollywood. It was this big sports bar with a million screens. I have nothing to compare this evening to. Every time Obama won a state, everyone went crazy. More energy than the World Series. After a very short while it was obvious Obama would win. He had 200 electoral votes and had yet to win California, Oregon and Washington. A few minutes later, around 9 o clock, that picture appeared on every single one of those TV screens. Barack Obama-- President Elect of the United States of America. Every single person in there went nuts. We hugged each other. We cried. I had really, deeply doubted the ability of my country to vote for him. But they did. Overwhelmingly. At some point everyone started chanting USA ! USA! USA! with such force, like they were taking it back. Taking it back from all the lies, the manipulation, the stupidity that has been the image of this country for all these years.
And, ya know, I love America. I do. I have always felt lucky to be here. I get mad when other people complain too much about this country. I feel like saying, well, move then. Leave. But I did not love President Bush. I don't love ignorance. I love things like the beautiful words of our constitution, that gives us things like Habeas Corpus.
Anyway. I got drunk, came home, learned that Prop 8 had passed and literally cried myself to sleep.
It was this strange feeling of being proud of my country, but at the same time, ashamed.
There is so much to do now though. Wars to avoid and wars to end. The elusive economy that will be a crapshoot to fix. No one knows, its like quantum physics, no one understands. But I think its the product of what happens when you have greed unleashed-- when you have people with money trying to make more instead of using it for good.
I am probably myself very dumb and naive. But I try, at least I am trying.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

October Baseball, 2008

I am sitting here in front of the TV on the crumby futon. Mark is typing at his desk behind me. I am watching a very strange game in the World Series. It began in the sixth inning, because of too much rain in Philly the other day. This is potentially, if the Phillies win, the last baseball game of 2008. This weird, short little ball game.
I personally want Tampa Bay to win because they were the worst team in baseball last year and though I am not a Mets fan, I am from Queens so I can't exactly root for Philly.
I like the underdog story. I like the story of that team no one expects much from taking it all.

And no, I don't want baseball to be over. It means fall is over, and summer is over, and spring is over. Maybe this is melodramatic but this is the last year of Yankee Stadium and I am afraid that this is the last year I will love baseball in that deep way I do. It's hard not being in New York for one thing, and also I am afraid my love of the Yankees is all tied up in that stadium, the place of its history. But I have another post I am working on about that, about the Last Yankees Game that I haven't gotten around to yet.

On TV, it looks like it's cold in Philly. Some of the ballplayers are wearing flappyhats. I wish it was cold here. It's still in the mid friggen 80s every day. I MISS FALL. I miss that cold air. I miss the colors everywhere. I miss New York. I don't know exactly what I am doing here.

Before this game started, the Barack Obama primetime message was on TV. It made me tear up. But apparently I cry about a whole lot. I know I am an emotional person. Kia says that I am open to the effect things have on me. Or something.

I will definitely be crying next week though. I will cry if Obama wins and I will cry  if McCain the yellow toothed man wins. (I am afraid of having McCain Yellow Teeth as I get older.)

Anyways. Bottom the the 8th. Phillies are up by 1.

Monday, September 22, 2008

The Last Real and True Yankees Game Ever

So I went to the game tonight. The FINAL game. The last game. The last Yankees game ever. I cried, teared up, clutched my chest and cried again just like I knew I would.

I love the Yankees. And I love Yankee Stadium.

So the story begins with how I used to hate my birthday. I was always very nervous about aging and losing touch with my youth. So birthdays made me depressed. And I mean like, when I was 13, it was agony to turn 14. The aversion to my birthday was also because of the pressure to be happy. Christmas, New Years, birthdays, you know what I am talking about. These are days you are SUPPOSED to be happy and that just means that you never are. Well. I wasn't, not then.

Then my parents started the tradition of taking me to Yankees games on my birthday. I don't remember how old I was. Maybe 15?
Before then, we always went to Shea. I grew up in Queens so when my family or other kids families went to baseball games, they went to Shea Stadium to see the Mets. I loved Shea too. I loved baseball. I played it. My brothers played it. I could watch and play all day.
But this birthday game was a Subway Series at Yankee Stadium. The Mets playing the Yankees. (Even today, interleague weekend usually falls on my birthday.)
Up until this point, I was nothing. I wasn't a Met fan and I wasn't a Yankee fan. I considered myself a NEW YORK BASEBALL fan. I watched whatever my Dad or brother was watching. I went to whatever game someone gave me tickets to.
I didn't think I would be happy at this game. It was my birthday. Birthdays sucked. And I was with my stupid family.
But I loved Yankee Stadium. My Dad told me stories, and explained who used to play here. Mickey Mantle. Yogi Berra. Roger Maris. Babe Ruth. Joe DiMaggio.
You could feel the ghosts in that stadium. When people say Yankee Stadium feels like a cathedral, you understand what they are talking about. You can feel the history-- probably people feel the same about Fenway Park. You can look at the field, close your eyes, and imagine it fifty years ago. Similar smells, similar sounds. Popcorn. A Bat colliding into a ball. The slap of a ball hitting the palm of a glove.

I watched the teams and I was forced to choose. You can never remain neutral for long. You have to root for someone. I tried to passively watch, just watch the plays and watch the hits but it was impossible.
So, who? The Mets, whose stadium I passed on the way to school every day?
But even at Mets games at Shea, the Mets annoyed me. They lacked spark as a team. It was frustrating to see them play. You wanted to bop them over the their heads and tell them to get it together.
But the Yankees. The Yankees played together like they were one entity. One thing.

Edit: I never finished this post. I must've been drunk and probably passed out. This was an amazing, never ending night. We didn't get to walk the field as we didn't get there early enough. But it was an amazing privilege to be there. One of my all time favorite places ever, now a graveyard.