The Things That Pull People Together
Much of the talk surrounding web 2.0 centers on getting people together. There is much to be said about the ways that technology can unite strangers: the election, the tragedy in Mumbai; and friends: facebook, myspace, linkedin; by enabling conversation and collaboration.
But while this ability to forge “togetherness” is no doubt something real, it still pales in comparison to an age old force that pulls people together closer and more tightly than anything else.
Death.
Today I received a call from a friend with whom I used to be incredibly close. A best friend, an almost boyfriend, a long time confidant and a holder of some of my deepest darkest secrets. Someone with whom I thought I would never lose touch. But inevitably over the course of years we both fell in love with other people, and now rarely find time to speak anymore.
In any case he called, and as the bearer of extremely sad news. The father of a mutual old, dear, close friend had a sudden heart attack and died instantly. Had I heard? Did I need information about the wake and funeral? A ride from the train? Could I make a few calls?
Since that first call my phone has been ringing all day, and each time the ghost of high school past is on the line. Or in this case middle school, which is the last time we were all in the same building together.
I met the man who passed only once, back in 1995. Back then I was the long haired, big eyed, 4’11”, and totally awkward girlfriend of his middle son. I was smitten with that boy in an eighth grade sort of a way, and to this day we still call each other exes, in the most loving way possible.
The father was a hugely tall man in my recollection, who seemed much more amused than my parents that boyfriend and I were being reprimanded by the teachers for acting too lovey-dovey on the eighth grade trip.
“So this is the famous phone girl,” he said with a hint of a snicker. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Obviously I was mortified. Boyfriend and I had never even kissed.
Flash back to now. I am heading home next week for what will be one of our saddest reunions to date.
Though we were all home last week for Thanksgiving, none of us got together. We felt too old to go the bar in town where the high school reunion would inevitably be, and were too lazy to find an alternate location. Facebook posts, text messages and plain old emails bounced around but eventually amounted to nothing.
But this is demonstrably different. We are getting together for something entirely too real. Facebook was ignored, and the long forgotten telephone suddenly became the communications method de rigueur.
After years of chats and emails it was a surprisingly welcome change. Though we are “telecomunically” interconnected in millions of different ways, we all independently chose to communicate this news over the phone.
I am shocked to admit, despite all the pictures I’ve seen, status updates I’ve read, and wall posts I’ve left – the voices on the other line were like another old friend I hadn’t realized I missed.
They’ve all come to look for America…..
On Election weekend a group of us SIPA kids drove out to Ohio to get out the vote. It as my first time in Ohio, and one my first excursions to the famed Middle America. It made a big impression.
My humble attempt at a audio slideshow is posted below. One of these days I will upgrade my computer and fix this up. For now, after considerably more than 30 man hours and about 2 dozen Excedrin, this is as good as it gets.
Until then, enjoy the cheesy music. USA! USA! haha. Or something like that.
Two great new videos!
I felt I had to share…
yay Katie!
Burnishing My VP Credentials
It turns out Sarah Palin and I have something in common.
(I mean, besides a uterus.)
We both are undeniably unqualified to be the Vice President of the United States.
And we both took the opportunity afforded by the opening of the 63rd United Nations General Assembly to up our qualifications for the role and meet some of those world leaders people seem to think are so important.
But while Sarah Palin chose to meet with American allies – Afghan president Hamid Karzai, Colombian president Alvaro Uribe, Pakistani president (and hopeful hugger) Asif Ali Zardari, Georgian president Mikheil Saakashvili and Ukranian president Victor Yushchenko – I chose to meet with someone American’s simply can’t stand.
Our very own, George W. Bush.
Now I know, I know. Why bother? He is yesterday’s news. Even according to Governor Palin, Bush is ancient history.
But still. He is the current president.
Truth be told, when I first got the invite I wasn’t going to go.
Just a day earlier, in the bowels of the United Nations my clumsiness almost knocked over a reporter who in turn almost knocked Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon in the head with a boom mic.
I kid you not.
On some newsroom floor there is b-roll footage of me looking absolutely terrified while trying to make myself as flat as possible against a wall, bracing myself for the worst and trying to prepare some excuse as to why I knocked the Secretary-General unconscious on his way to a High Level meeting on the Palestinian situation.
After that I figured I might just be better off on the sidelines.
But then I saw Condi.
And despite my dislike of her policies, I have to admit. I was impressed.
She may have made many mistakes, but damn! The woman knows how to dress.
(I confess. I’m shallow.)
And after my relatively positive 25 second encounter with Secretary Rice, I figured my brush with President Bush wouldn’t be that bad.
And besides, I thought snapping a photo of Georgie and I looking chummy would be, well, funny.
Turns out, it wasn’t.
In his private address to State Department employees and their families, George W. Bush said somewhere in the ballpark of 100 words.
Approximately 97 of those words annoyed me.
And by annoyed, I mean that every muscle in my body tensed up and smoke was veritably pouring out of my ears.
I went in with relatively good intentions. I would wake up absurdly early and make my way to Midtown. I would wear my suit and pearls and smile on cue. I would be polite. I would silently reproach a president who I fundamentally disagree with but I would never let my resentment for his gross mismanagement of my country show.
Well all I can say is, I tried.
Apparently my dislike for this man runs deep.
When it came time to smile, I scowled. When it came time to clap I just stood there, arms crossed and teeth clenched, wishing I could curse and yell and scream at the TV. But Georgie wasn’t on TV. He was about 10 feet from where I stood in a gilded room in the crumbling Waldorf Astoria. So I bit my tongue.
And hated myself for being there.
When it came time for picture taking I politely tried to back away. I wanted to run. Or yell. Or stomp on his foot. (I really liked this idea, my heels looked awfully painful).
I didn’t move fast enough. When the moment of truth came, I accepted his outstretched hand, and shook it. I mean, he is still the president. But I found it impossible to make small talk or to ask for a picture. It’s very hard to speak when you are attempting to swallow that much resentment.
In the end, I didn’t get any pictures that I could caption “I’m with Stupid.” I did get this one though, that looks a bit like I did step on Georgie’s foot.
And the Mission ‘photographer’ took this one that is kind of / almost of me and my girl Condi.
Hey, if my all time favorite crazy dictator Muammar al-Gaddafi loves her, she can’t be all bad. Right? Anyone?
Sigh. At least I didn’t trip anyone.


