I went on a first date last night. And that’s all I’m going to say. You see, I’m superstitious about dates and talking about them. I don’t like telling people about a first or second or third date for the same reason women don’t like to talk about their pregnancies in the first trimester. I want to make sure it STICKS before I talk about it. I don’t want to get dumped on my ass after the second or third date and have to deal with the misery of rejection AND the misery of having to talk about the rejection with my friends for the next week. I suppose I do this for the same reason people don’t introduce girlfriends/boyfriends to their family until all matters of the relationship have been resolved. I once introduced a new girlfriend to my family and passed her off as the greatest thing since the Easy Bake Oven and then suffered the embarrassment and shame of getting dumped a few weeks later. Who wants that?
In other news, tonight will mark the triumphant return of The Hotties at Trivia Night!!! Although it has yet to be approved by the Hottie majority, I think it’s safe to say our team name tonight will be:
“There’s No Joy in Hottieville, the Mighty Kerry Has Struck Out.”
Tonight’s team will most likely consist of myself, CP (aka, Hottie #5), CP’s Brother (aka, Hottie #6), and their mother (aka, Honorary Hottie C). Evidently, CP’s Brother has invited a coworker to attend and said coworker once worked in a record store so if she comes, and I’ve accurately described her work experience, we could very likely kick some serious Trivia arse in the Music Round. Wish us luck!
Finally, I wrote a poem a few years ago inspired by a Vermont gubernatorial race between Howard Dean and Ruth Dwyer. Ruth Dwyer basically ran on the “Take Back Vermont” platform that said the state government had gone too far with its universal state education property tax as well as its Civil Union law. Her campaign essentially fed off the blatant old-school hatred toward homosexuals in an attempt to remove from office the man who signed the Civil Union law. In response, I did the only powerful thing I felt I could: I wrote. And 4 years later, the poem I wrote to her can now be appropriately addressed to our president-elect who, in the name of hatred, is determined to proudly discriminate against homosexuals. And so, in response to his views, I feel compelled to share this poem with you…
To President Bush:
Dressed in false truths, a devil in disguise
with tears of hatred pouring from your eyes,
you preach the Word. You’ve come to dispel
the “sin,” the love, the “weak and unwise”
and with promises of the eternal prize
you cast out your Biblical spell
coated with sugar-stained lies.
I shall enjoy watching your demise
while sitting in the throne from which you fell
perched high above in the heavenly skies
with the “sinners,” the lovers, the strong, and the wise
far from the grave you’ve dug in hell.
© 2004 Mr. Benchly
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