"We live in troubled times."
That's what people say and it's true.
For example, just yesterday I was troubled by a perky little blond - I'll call her Aeon - who couldn't wait to tell me the following:
"You know who you remind me of? Barack Obama!"
She said this the way I imagine Madam Curie announcing the discovery of polonium only take out the science and the Polish-ness and add four inch heels and a mini skirt.
On second thought, it wasn't like Curie at all.
"Hey, yeah...that's nice" I said, because I like to stay positive (remember GwangJu and that awesome lithium ion battery fire? Didn't I stay positive, even then?). Still, I had to press things a little further. "What is it about me - besides the permanent tan and devil-may-care suit sans tie look - that reminds you of Sen. Obama?"
Aeon pulled out the usual suspects: "professional", "clean cut", "good looking", and my personal un-favorite, "well spoken".
Buttons, you know how I feel about "well spoken" - a tortured compliment, heavily salted with artery clogging condescension. Chris Rock ably dissected "well spoken" years ago. I felt a mood climbing up from the depths into the light; a sour mood.
But as you've always said, know your moment: know when it's right to ruthlessly pull the trigger and when to bite it.
I left it alone.
"Are you going to vote for Obama?" She asked, smiling sweetly. "No Aeon, I'm not" I replied. That "no" hissed from between my lips as quietly as a sigh. I explained why in some detail (you know the drill).
This surprised her. How could I not vote for my fellow well spoken, neatly dressed, cafe au lait club member?! Didn't we all meet somewhere and compare sharp black guy notes?
It was a long day.
I lamented my sorry state: bereft of operatives, minions and henchmen to clear my schedule of this discussion.
Love and rockets,
.d.