so. my intern harin messages me, asking if i've checked my email...and i sigh a bemused sort of sigh, whilst wondering what award he's won this time, because he's obviously fishing for a congratulations... :) then i actually open my hotmail, and i'm astounded to see an email decrying the ridiculously untenable ignorance that the PRESIDENT of the college dems displayed towards louisiana gubernatorial candidate bobby jindal.
and i start to feel that familiar flush, that heat, that rage. after all, just last year, "anna 1.0" was political anna vs this year's happier (and richer) banking "anna 2.0". 2002 was full of sleepless nights spent trying to help my ungrateful community; so it was only natural that my intense hatred of injustice and ignorance came roaring back. also, i was a CR in college ;) so that just added high octane gas to my engine. i click on the hyperlink for the "good" president's email. and i let him HAVE it. after all, harin DID say that he wanted concerned indian americans to voice their concern...so i fairly screeched mine...
From: Anna John
Subject : Ashley- remove head from ass, then email.
Thanks for reminding me of why I was a CR in college; your contentions are ignorant, your words are pathetic and you are possibly in need of a remedial education.LSU law school must be desperate to accept such a complete idiot.
When the GOP controls everything, it will be through the "efforts" of morons like you. Keep up the GREAT work.
-a "token" genius with the GOP
i hit send with a passion that almost broke the "enter" key on my vaio. then i felt remorse; harin is my southern gentleman, my tentative jiminy cricket timidly asserting when i've done wrong. perhaps he wanted smooth-as-my-godson's-ass Anna to respond, in a more professional and ladylike fashion. i resigned myself grimly to a future AIM convo, where i pleaded with harin to accept me for the fire-breathing dragon that i am...and i promptly forgot about all of this, b/c i have bigger things to worry about-- like what the bleeding hell am i going to wear to SALF in wdc???
so. imagine my complete surprise at getting a phone call...from the PRESS. they wanted to interview...me? i was high from an ancient kind of La...last year i got interviewed rampantly and i loved it. i still have a tape of the hour i spent with the bbc world service. yeah. i was THAT cool ;) but i thought that i had left this erstwhile life behind; no more lunching with ambassadors, no more making speeches on post 9/11 civil rights issues, no more fighting the INS/DOJ/W regime...no more politicaldesi. there have been moments recently, when i actually felt like changing my aim sn. it just doesn't feel apposite any more. not for this avatar, affectionately named "anna 2.0" by someone who knows me better than any of you. i'm not a political anything now. i work at a bank. i spend my free time learning about hedge funds. bonds. all part of my plan to transfer back to nyc with my cushy benefits intact. i live and breathe money now, C.R.E.A.M. is my creed (sigh...to remember a world where meth had cred...those were the days).
i was rusty at first. my words stilted, less than graceful. i snapped off the tv, threw the vaio on the couch and commenced my trademark pacing, phone gilding my ear with heat...or was it my ear that was burning my phone? i suddenly felt my body temperature spike. what was all this? was that fire i felt in every blood cell, each suddenly pulsing faster as my brain rediscovered a dusty channel that had been ignored...and then the synapses went nuts...and i was ON. i could feel it. my words were flowing so fast the world actually felt like it was spinning faster, sheerly through the velocity of the sound rushing past my lips. i was raw, candid, uncontrollably articulate. reckless with my choice of words. occasionally profane. the passion, the livid indignation, it was all so very sweetly familiar.
he tried to end the interview twice, with a "this is my last question", but each time, my answer prompted another question. or two. then it really was over, and i threw my phone on my chaise. what was happening to me? i went to the bathroom to retie the messy i'm-in-the-house-and-too-busy-to-care updo that had collapsed and that's when i saw my eyes flash. i saw my rare single dimple, who only makes appearances when i am TRULY happy (i.e. new, limited edition diesel is procured, little blue boxes tied with white ribbons are offered, my daddy calls me princess...so once a year basically) out and proud. the dimple gave me pause.
me? happy? but this was the world i fled, determined to feel estranged from forever.
why did i feel all love and rockets oh-so-alive? epiphany, brain, time for an epiphany. i waited. the dimple started to recede. i went back to my daddy's favourite wing chair. closed my mind. tried to take the deep breaths i find so difficult to master. and there it was. i was HAPPY because i got to "do it my way". i don't answer to any shitty non-profit now. they don't pay my fucking salary. my first amendment rights are ALL MINE to exercise however i see fit. i miss standing up for shit that enrages me, but when i tried to make a career out of that, i missed being allowed to be myself. for the first time, those twin desires coexisted, perfectly. i was restless to see how the interview would play...i did my part, but as a former "journalist" and strategist, i know it's all about the spin. i tried not to think about it; what's done was done.
this morning, the article showed up in my hotmail inbox. and the dimple practically pierced my flesh. those of you who are closest to me were virtual witnesses to my explosive, all-encompassing glee via AIM. the bitch is BACK, i muttered to myself, as i typed frenetically to the actor, the DJ, the new yorker, the intern-activist and the intern-journalist, simultaneously.
watch out now...