On Election Day, I woke up at my current ridiculous hour — 5 a.m. After I read the entire Internet and a chapter from Friday’s book-club selection (“The Leisure Seeker,” Michael Zadoorian) I laid in a puddle of self-loathing, watching a debate between my angel and devil. By now it was 6:45.
Hey, fatty. You should be exercising. This book isn’t that good.
But my knee hurts.
Your knee hurts because you don’t exercise. It’s a loop.
And then, just to make sure the angel and devil would be joined by a third visual cliché, a light bulb appeared over my head. (How did cartoonists illustrate “I just had an idea” before Thomas Edison? Candles?) I know: I will get up and walk briskly to my polling place! It’s not exactly an eight-mile run, but my knee hurts. It’s something. Better than nothing.
And so I got up and pulled on a few layers and headed out, looking frankly a little rumply and just-out-of-beddy. As I drew closer to city hall I reflected on the genius of this plan, as I’d be able to enter via a different door and bypass the sign-wavers in the parking lot, at least some of whom I’d know. Then I saw the parking lot. It was full. Those people couldn’t possibly all be waiting to vote, could they?
They could. And were. Even with more machines than I’ve ever seen, it was almost a 30-minute wait to vote. I filled out my ballot with grim purpose and started home, striving for a sweet spot for the footfall to not make every step say ouch. I detoured through the alley because of construction on a storefront, and saw what appeared at a distance to be a fried-chicken thigh lying near a dumpster. (I was behind the Chicken Shack.) As I grew closer, it revealed itself: A wallet.
A wallet with a credit card, and an EBT card, and a little bit of cash, and a driver’s license. I went around to the construction crew: Anybody here named Aaron? No. So I walked back to city hall and turned it in to the police. Regular readers who haven’t been bored into stupefaction may recall I lost my own wallet a few years ago, and it was delivered back to my door, intact, by a kind soul. This was not just a lost wallet, but a chance to repay a karmic debt.
I also found the guy on Facebook, and messaged him. Did what I can. When a guy’s getting food stamps, he can’t afford to lose his wallet.
I’m writing this while watching election returns come in, but it’s early. I have to be up at oh-dark-nothing to get to Lansing for the post-election stuff, and it’s likely I’ll be asleep by the time this thing is called, so this may have to be an open-thread day. Just in case there are a few of you who would like to discuss anything else, some conversation-starters:
A starving-dog story with a twist, involving the Detroit Bus Company, which I wrote about for Bridge a few weeks ago.
A few months ago, something took me into the vortex of Timothy Ferriss, author of the “four-hour” bullshit franchise. Want to get rich and not work too hard? Buy “The Four-Hour Work Week.” Did you know you can be fit and strong and have a six-pack? No? Why, you must not have read “The Four-Hour Body.” I hear that in the latter volume, Ferriss claims he can give a woman a 15-minute orgasm. Your initial reaction may be mine: Who the hell wants one of those? (I’m kind of with Woody Allen on the orgasm question — mine have all been right on the money.) Without having read the books, I feel I can safely say he’s full of shit, not just for the 15-minute orgasm claim, but also because it’s said that this man weighs his own feces for some health-related reason. So when I heard his latest book, some other four-hour thing, is not having a very easy time of it, all I could think was, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.
Finally, remember 2 Live Crew? “Me So Horny,” Tipper Gore, all that stuff? He’s settled down, as we all tend to do with age. What’s he doing now? Coaching high-school football. Interesting guy. Good story.
Now to schedule this post and wait for the news to roll in. Fingers crossed for all my votes, and yours, too.
UPDATE: OK, I’m still up. Mourdock just ate dirt in Indiana. I may need to survive on coffee tomorrow.