Election Day Recycled
-6/14/05: Notes from the Truck

recycled...

another election day
at a dark museum
without a soul in sight.

flag day...

lights dimmed
a bronze statue of two naked Adonis everyman types
one fallen
dying on a rock passing a torch to another virile man,
on a large steed,
a homoerotic piece with Olympic themes and overtones of war...
and completely not helping my mood,
as I sit out here at four something in the damned morning.

with the statue...the sign...in the middle of the shot that will start off our morning of election fevor and reverance,
"THE MUSEUM IS CLOSED"
as the masses do nothing,
not a thing,
because there is no one here.
They are all in bed. The smart Democrats, Republicans, Undecided, Unconscious...
Because who cares about the primaries,
and politics at four something in the damned morning.

My presence in the big live-truck, with its mast hovering and waving a mere mile from my station, in direct line of sight,
flapping wildly above the american flag outside the museum,
has done nothing to grab the attention of the pollers.

Possibly free Skynyrd tickets, some Krispy Kreme donuts, and a local fallen celebrity might bring the bastards out to vote, but I doubt it. The only person dumb enough to be out here is me...the lackey with busy work...

No, it's not as eventful as an opening for the final movie of the second series of trilogies, like Star Wars, but it's a living for the one who prefers early hours and early days on the beach,
and in the water...

My god, a perfectly tanned blonde just jogged by, streamlined like a racehorse...my first smile of the morning.

And dammit, I can't stop sneezing, the flourishing fauna surrounding the Chrysler museum is sending my hay fever into overdrive, snot rocketing out of my head like a howitzer.

So I sit in the air-conditioned live-truck, a reconfigured ambulance type with the microwave mast extending high in the sky, wavering in this humid morning's slight breeze, which has been causing the trees and bushes to release their pollen in what seems to be a direct path to my sinuses.

I don't now who's running...governor and lieutenant-governor gubenatorial primary and attorney-general primary. Looks like my old friend Senator...I mean Governor Mark "Skeletor" Warner will be looking for a new job. President maybe? This first time I met "Skeletor," a pet name penned by my former co-conspirator Steve Kearns, my last words to him were "it was nice to meet you, Senator," which was followed by a goofy, look of confusion from the Virginia governor. I was new to the state and could barely find my way home, much less identify the current political powerhouses in Richmond. On another occassion at Harbor Park, the playing field of the Norfolk Tides, our local "AAA" Mets team, there was a three-hour cruise, yes, a three-hour cruise: a public relations shindig involving local city dignitaries, school children, and the governor...a recipe for disaster at any speed.

I was there to get a comment from the Gov about the possibilities of some naval air stations closing...Oceana I think?

The banter began simply and turned comical.

"Governor," I hailed as he got ready to board the SS Minnow. "How do you feel about the likeliness of some of the Navy's airfields moving from Virginia?"

"Well if you come on board I can tell you all about it," he smiled, playing to the crowd, pushing that money-making machine into motion.

'A three-hour cruise...' I thought.

"You know, I'd love to, guv'n'r, but you see, I've been working since 3 in the morning and I've got two small children to get home to so let's just do this here."

Realizing he was going to lose me right there and in effect, my station, he stepped back into character. The politician, the statesman, and blurted out his sound bite, way too long and way too broad in content and concept.

"Thanks gov...enjoy your cruise."

Mark my words, friends, Mark will likely be our next president or at least a strong showing in 2008. President Skeletor will soon be sitting in the oval office of Castle Grayskull and my He-man days have long since passed.But all in all, he's a good shit.

As the sun brightens the hot, summer morning, I still sit here without a soul in sight, minus the occassional car making its way to work or wherever in this quiet Ghent neighborhood.

My day has the possibilty for greatness: a trip to the Outer Banks to cover some schoolkids from Ohio who bulit an identical working reproduction of the Wright Brothers' glider. They will be plummeting from high atop Jockey's Ridge and hopefully, I'll get a chance to fling myself from the massive sand dune into the blustery skies of Carolina, although time and lack of experience as a pilot might prevent this. Who knows what will happen. The wondrous life of a feature photojournalist in television, with a fear junkie at the helm.

"What are you doing out here so early?" It was a worker from the museum.

"Umm..its election day. Where is everyone?"

"Well nobody's shown up yet, but the entrance will be in the West Parking Lot." I'm in the South.

Dammit...so as she posts the sign to show where the new point-of-entry will be, I quickly break down the truck, load and re-unload my gear, and make my way to the West Lot, where I witnessed the mad rush of democracy: an elderly couple slowly making their way to the door.

"Ha, ha...I can't believe they moved the entrance," the woman chuckled.

Man, I hate busy work

--------------------------------

Afternote: I saw three people vote in my hours there. A considerable waste of time.

On a positive note, after three tries, the kids got that glider to fly and the jubilation was insane. I didn't get a chance to fly myself, but did capture the event well, from the long trek across the dunes, to the first attempts, and finally, to the first flight. They felt the same excitement and pride that I think the brothers from Dayton might have felt a hundred and two years ago.

"They done it, they done it...damned if they ain't flew." -- Johnny Moore, Kitty Hawk, 1903