This is What Democracy Looks Like

Since there's little chance that the man who took me out for drinks Saturday will ever find the blog, I feel I can safely say that he reminded me of a garden gnome.  I went out with him in the first place because I was impressed when he told me on the phone that back in the early 1980's, Townes Van Zandt convinced him to move to Austin years ago to try his hand in the music business.  He lived in Stevie Ray Vaughn's old apartment while he played his guitar around town with lots of bands I recognized.  He's picked up his guitar again now that he's an old poop.  I can dig it.

He left Austin after a year, returning to the East Village to pursue painting or something like that.  He wound up going into digital design and dot com stuff, and made a comfortable living.  Some years ago, he and the woman from whom he is not fully divorced bought their dream house in Nyack.  Hudson view, jacuzzi, deck - he's stuck with it because it's a bad time to sell that sort of property.

If you have to be stuck in the suburbs, Nyack is a reasonable commute, but it's still the suburbs and the man himself is short and stout. Like a Lawn Gnome or a Smurf.  He didn't have a full beard, though.  He had a skinny soul patch which I guess makes him JazzMan Smurf or something.

He asked me to suggest a place to meet, and all I could think of was the bar at  Fish Tag.  I like it because of the white pinot noir and smoked salmon pastrami.   Nevertheless, I wasn't going all Smurfette on a man who was not fully divorced and said he was looking for the love of his life before I had even got settled at the bar.  He made me nervous.  And besides, he really did look like a Lawn Gnome  A horny Lawn Gnome.  I guess that's what makes him JazzMan Smurf.   Naturally, I ran up a bar tab, but when I reached for my wallet, he waved it off very nicely.   As a rule, I prefer men who pay my bar tabs over those that don't so I did give him a perfunctory kiss when he dropped me off at my apartment.

It never occurred to me to ask him up for a night cap.

He wrote me the next night, saying I was attractive and fun, but he was not convinced there would be a romantic connection.  I wrote back to say he was right to be unconvinced since I was in no way interested in having sex with him at this time.  However, I did not hate him and I was willing to let him touch me.  In my book, that's major progress.

In the morning, I received a note from him via MatchMail saying that he'd had epiphany after two therapy sessions.  The love of his life was his guitar and he was committed to pursuing his passion.  He'd be willing to try again with me if I wanted.  I said: Thanks but No Thanks.   I was not getting mixed up with JazzMan Smurf's mid-life crisis in Nyack.  Honestly, I"m glad he likes to play his guitar and for all I know he's as wonderful as he says he is.  Some suburban matron will be glad to sit in a bar and watch him play.

Me?  I'll be down in the drum circle on Wall Street.  I was there Monday afternoon.  I didn't find Malcolm but I found Jesse LaGreca surrounded by young men in their late teens and early twenties. He was giving them on the spot media training for dealing with malicious reporters who try to trick you into looking stupid for their own purposes.  He was gathering a little posse in case they needed to record and/or shout down the reporter Geraldo Style, like the Occupiers did the other day.



I hung out with Jesse for a while, talking to bloggers similar to myself who wanted information about him.  I happened to know how to spell his name and his twitter address, and fell into the role of Personal Assistant with my handy note pad and pen.

Jesse listening closely to a woman's question.
The fellow on the right is a Senate Intern listening closely to Jesse.

Sadly, he didn't remember Malcom at all.  But I'm sure he'll remember the conversation we had about his own self being single.  He's a nice boy.  I noticed some other attractive men in my demographic hanging around on Monday, and I've got a feeling that the Men of the Occupation are not Patriarchal Dickwads.  I'm under the impression that the Lawn Gnome from Nyack and the Yoga Master are both Patriarchal Dickwads.

After I said Good-Bye to Jesse, I stood at the periphery of a group around Amy Goodman and Democracy Now.  Amy Goodman's boots were fabulous.   Then I went down to the drum circle for about an hour.   I haven't been able to get to sleep ever since because I've been too excited.  I was dancing with a couple of young, black men.  Everybody chanted together:

SHOW ME WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE
THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE

I like the way the rhythm gets the energy of the Occupation flowing in my veins.  It's very stimulating.  I've been waking up with the chant in my head, and can't wait to get back down there on Friday again.  It's supposed to rain, and I'm thinking about bringing a bunch of jingle bells.  That way I can hold my umbrella and still play along.

There are so many beautiful things happening at Occupy Wall Street that I don't even know how to list them for the Explore Beauty Challenge.  While I'm pondering that, I'll declare The People's Library to be #34-101.

The People's Library

Many of the books were donated by authors who came to speak or give a class to the Occupation.