I know that New York can survive without me, but can I survive without it? Last night I spent all night debugging my laptop and blogging instead of being out. Bad.
this morning the headlines in The LA Times said 9,000 people were arrested. Was early. Saw the famed Santa Monica farmers market being set up. Justly famed as I had never seen such beautiful vegetables and fruits. Any other time I would have stopped, taken some pictures with my photocam, and flirted with the farmers.
Instead I ran around looking for the real Times, The New York Times. Had breakfast at a restaurant I’ve been looking for, for some time. Incredible pumpkin pancakes. Read parts of The LA Times.
It was good. Columns made fun of the Bush girls, Republican reporters and even the saintly Laura. But I needed the real thing.
Passed some women who had set up a Kerry/Edwards table. Asked if there were any events this week. Didn’t know; didn’t know how to help all the people who stopped. I should have said let me person the table. That kind of thing is in my blood. But since I’m not registered in California they weren’t interested. (Bad of them, I am a registered Democrat and I live in Manhattan. I have much more at stake here. They should have understood that this is a matter of life and death to me.) They could have called my editor if they wanted to check me out—am on leave to write a book not about politics. Can’t do my political thing because I’m a reporter not a columnist. Don’t care anymore. It’s the battle of our lives.
Found a Times. Am going to read it now then beach walk to Malibu. First I will put on a coat of diamond chip–looks clear–nail polish–I brought from home.
Am going to wear my Pope looking at Bush button—“didn’t think he was that stupid.”