I came downstairs tonight and Spike, Jerry’s hell-raising ferret, was biting the lip of a water bottle right next to my laptop. He had once spilled an entire Nalgene all over it, miraculously doing no damage, so I was terrified. I wondered before how he managed to tip it, but the mystery was solved as I watched from the top of the stairs as Spike punched the bottle with his little paw, knocking it over and spilling its contents on the floor. When I got to the computer and threw Spike, sending him sliding across the wood floor, I noticed he had attempted to send an email. The following was on the monitor, recently written:

Tate to Eats:

Responding to:

[Eats With Face to mrchair]
You look thinner Chair, but healthy.

It sort of looks like Spike read Face’s email, was either outraged or had some important input, but couldn’t figure out how to send, so he decided to destroy the computer. But he failed. I have to wonder what “qwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwqwww” means in ferret. Knowing Spike, probably, “I’m going to bite your foot and shit in the corner.”


The other night, it came up that I have a tendency to overthink things. It was in a pretty serious context, and it was an observation I’ve had to deal with seasonally. As one smart person said to me, “the rational turns into the irrational.” After this was pointed out, I sort of put my head down kind of exhausted by the whole thing and muttered something about how I feel like I spend most of my life just struggling to get myself to shut the fuck up for five seconds. So why did I choose to spend most of my life dealing with words? I always sort of hinge things on the fact that no matter what, thinking things over, writing stuff down, talking about stuff will always make it better. And while that’s often true, it really terrifies me to think that sometimes words don’t make it better.


Like waiting tables, canvassing enforces some unfortunate stereotypes. Like all stereotypes, they only go so far in portraying the truth before you come across the person who blows your preconceptions out of the water and makes you feel like an asshole. Still, they do tend to reflect some unfortunate and gaping racial divides. For example, whenever I train a black person to canvass, I’m always a little bit skeptical. And I hate the fact that I get that way, but when it all comes down to it, when a black person goes into an exclusively white, rich neighborhood asking for money, it’s not gonna be easy. There aren’t that many black canvassers. Another example, once I was out training and a small Hispanic woman came to the door and had rough English. I almost immediately said, “Will the owner be back later tonight?” knowing she was the housekeeper. The trainee asked how I knew, and I tried to play it off on her outfit. But the truth was, whenever someone with dark skin comes to the door in the early evening, in a rich neighborhood, it’s very rare that they own the house. Sucks huh?


Sara and I were at a bar in Georgetown, and her friend from college, Michaela, was telling us about a horribly inappropriate email forward sent out to her and people she knows. It involved a bunch of chicks, some yellow and some black, and a racial slur. Everyone was disgusted by it. She kept calling the chicks, “chickadees” and I thought it was funny. I told her I thought the email forward was horrible, and said, “It’s so horrible that there’s racism among the chickadees.”


It’s finally fall. So beautiful outside. Fuck DC summers. Walking around last night, I got that singular fall smell that’s so great on the first real fall night of the year. I kept getting these flashes of my first year in college in Tucson when the seasons changed. A Halloween party at my friend Brian’s. Barbecues at my first apartment. The musty smell in my dorm room. Then to Friday nights in high school, going to football games because there’s nothing else to do, and that’s where all the cheerleaders are.


I really need a haircut. My hair is so long. Also, as Face pointed out, I got pretty skinny in the last couple of months or so. So much walking everyday. I can’t put on weight if I tried. I like it. My pants are all loose. It’s like I’m back in college. But without the musty dorm room. Can’t wait for Halloween in Tucson though.


This week we’re going to New York. I’ve never been. Should be pretty good.

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One Response to

  1. catfishvegas says:

    Where’re the NYC tales?

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