**1 am: ** I’m at a Pumpkin Carving party, watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I shouldn’t be, as I have to get up at 5am – ouch! – to get on the bus to DC tomorrow. It’s the dubbed version which upholds the tradition of lousily dubbed foreign movies. I notice it’s raining – no, pouring! Monsoon Protest!
**5 am: ** Rain can’t stop me, can only hope to contain me! Practically front flip out of bed, which is unfortunately empty – no lock of hair, alas. The roommate, enlisted the week before, is already up and packed. We eat a hurried breakfast and the car we’ve called starts honking!
Did I mention it’s 5 am on a Saturday? Friggin’ idiot!
**6 am: ** We wake up at 13th between 7th & 8th. I can tell we’re in the right place as the buses loom menacingly in the rain. We were promised three and a half buses; only two have arrived. I tried to find out about the missing bus from the A.N.S.W.E.R organizer, but she too has yet to arrive. Wonderful. At least it’s not chaotic and rainy or anything.
I wonder if Republicans sell vacations? For one week, I’d like my compatriots to be disciplined, the media to play my message, and rich people to give me sacks of money. I’d be willing to be evil for a week, if my hotel had those kind of perks. They could rename the Lincoln Bedroom, “The Regents Hotel.”
**6:30 am: ** Local organizer arrives, a mere half-hour after the departure date. Me, and the roommate and a passel of others poncho wearing lefties are awaiting the third bus under the downpour. A clipboard is thrust into my hands, which, judging by the questions, makes me the organizer. All hail the power of the clipboard!
**6:45 am: ** Still no third bus. Organizer is off somewhere; clipboard getting soaked. We start calling out the silliest names from the list, and then not from the list. Kelly Kareem Jabar! Richard Danjou! Honsi Mubarak, is there a Honsi Mubarak here?
**6:50 am: ** Third bus arrives. Boo to the Ya! We’s gonna get some marching done!
**7-9:30 am: ** We’s get some sleeping done.
**10 am: ** Damn boisterous liberals. There’s a group up front, singing, wearing fur clothes and tiaras. I guess it takes all kinds?
**10:15 am: ** Am now singing songs, also wearing top hat and cravat.
**10:30 am: **Am now enrolled in the **Billionaires for Bush** cause. They’ve got a good message and a good organizer, in Maya Cash, what can I say? Plus which, they say they needed the manpower. I am now “Lackey AKA Aspiring Billionaire.” Shibbey!
Part of a song they wrote on the bus:
11:15 pm: Note to self: Am psyched. So noted, self!
**12 pm: ** We got lost a little, but here we are. It’s a gorgeous day in DC., with the sun shining off of various Iconic Erections, and a few wispy clouds in an otherwise blue sky. Won’t need my scarf and gloves.
**1 pm: ** We’re marching and signing and shouting. Who needs other folks? “Big Oil! United! You people ain’t invited! Go home!” Won’t need my jacket.
**1:15 pm: ** “We’re out of the wealth close to tell you rabble to go home.” “Go vote, it amuses us.” “Here’s some money, get a job – you too could be a billionaire some day (snicker), you’ve got the qualifications: you’re a white man!” “Hey, independent media! Do you guys work for us yet, or would you like some money?”
**1:20 pm: ** Pictures with Bush and Satans. Lucky us, we hit the trifecta.
**1:30 pm: ** We run into some other folks – at the counter rally! Yikes! “Watch out for the left, as they have been known to be violent.” “Socialism is unnatural! Hierarchical systems like the honeybees arise from nature! Not everyone can be the Queen Bee!” Oooookay, skippy. Have fun there with your 200 people and your 50 cops.
**2:15 pm: ** Sign says “It’s pronounced Nu-CLE-ar, stupid!” Ha!
**2:30 pm: ** Guess I won’t need my shirt either. Get some yoga in; get some sun in. Listen to Al Sharpton, watch some women baring breasts for Democracy. Go them! Climb up trees, take pictures of throngs; easily 100,000. People are everywhere; the signs are not as inspired as the past protest, but the numbers are mind-numbing, people are up and down Constitution Ave; you cannot move in the park; the poor grass is just being pounded into mud!
**3 pm: ** I break from the singing and songing to see who I can see; run into Billy and some friends from Volleyball who try to interview me for Pixel Press, but we get separated; ran into some old-school Volleyball folks, Rhonda and her friend, but not my friend whose back went out. Said hi to the Oberlin Contingent, and the Park Slope Methodist Church.
Lots of States being represented (for a change), there’s Montana, Washington, North Carolina, New Hampshire, Soccer Moms, Floridans for Peace, and of course, the 9-11 New Yorkers for Peace. For some reason, we’re flooded, overrun, infested with Vermonters. With Birkenstocks and trail mix, no less.
**4 pm: ** Just a river of people, except we’re not moving on 17th and Constitution. Guess we’re a lake of people? Big Chinese dragon costume. Bread and Puppets have paper mache faces and bloody mache hands. Grotesque renditions of Arab women kneeling and weeping over their burnt faceless babies. Tingly surreal. Annoying sound truck with stale rallying cries. No Justice! Shut UP! Krispy Krist, can’t the songwriters at Front Page Follies lend a hand?
**4:30 pm: ** Lost the roommate. Ran into a straggler from the Billionaires for Bush. He’s dressed as Captain Reagan. Reagan has umbrella festooned with thousand dollar bills. I have sign saying “Billionaires for Bush, providing America with quality weapons.” We zip around the White House, everyone is just cracking up at our tandem. We rock!
4:45 pm: I estimate 150,000 people, though it’s tough to get a handle. Basically, Washington is flooded. Need satellite photos. Wave to white house, where sit in is underway (by the protesters, not Bush). Bush away at Texas fundraiser?
Bono-looking guy sole counter-protester, holding sign that says Kill Saddam. Who knew U2 was for war?
5 pm: March over, bus search begins anew. There’s a lot of buses at 17th and Constitution yet none of them is ours. Turns out 250 buses made it from NY. Ours is in a holding pattern?
6 pm: Found everyone else, but still no bus.
6:15 pm: Found bus, now missing a few people; they won’t get far without their trail mix.
6:30 pm: Found lost sheep. On the road! All singing, all dancing, back rubs and foot massages, pamphleteering and petitions, enlisting and subscribing, pledging and revitalizing, networking and deep communication; a communion for the liberal soul.
8 pm: I feel validated and nourished. I take a deep breath and exhale quietly in the darkness, smiling gently and listening to the quiet laughter and songs trickle into the back of the bus, interwoven with the diesel engine’s throbbing hum which sounds like this: Hummhumm(kumb)huh(lord)humHummm(laugh)hummHumm.
As I drift into slumber, a last stray thought escapes: If heaven isn’t this, then I don’t want to go.
