He is compassionate, passionate, connected.
Someone who could run for office, network with the local Democratic Party big whigs, and also hoot and holler and get home late from a Black Oak Arkansas concert.
He is a Michigan boy, played hockey, football, eats McDonald's by the bucket full, can drink beer with either hand. Knows all the eff about Chomsky and Zinn and whatever else liberal crap you got.
He lets me into his home to talk about my books, talk bad about George Bush, drink his beer, eat his shrimp. He cares. He's trying. He's doing good things. He's going to do lots more good things.
He says that he met Joe Wilson of Valerie Plame Wilson at some function.
Joe said: "There are no tinfoil hats. These guys can do anything."
Do-do. Do-do. Do-do. Do-do.
I am impressed, but I'm glad to be gone.
I'm always glad to be gone.
Remember my comfort zone? I always feel lucky to talk to the people I meet. I don't know what they think about me, but I am happy to be able to say what's on my mind.
And I'm also always very happy to get back into the rusty, brown Honda and put on the headphones and dial up the Dixie Chicks or Steve Earle to celebrate the freedom of the road, being alone, on the way, going somewhere, else.
Well, I took I-75 Sunday through the heart of Detroit, past Comerica Stadium.
I was able to get the Twins-Tigers for a short time on my headphones.
I can't help but stare right and left at the city, at the neighborhoods.
Poverty is interesting. Affluence is boring.
I wonder about what goes on in that house, down that street, in that park. I drove around Kansas City in the black neighborhood I was going to read in, Milwaukee, Minneapolis. I just don't understand why we allow poverty. I just don't get it. Some people live in these types of neighborhoods and we all just accept it. I remember doing a story on Mexicans in Minnesota who lived in a goddamn compound, like a prison camp, for a portion of the year, just to work for one of the canning companies. Geezuz-eff! What is wrong with us?
Look out for the big-effing truck.
Someone who could run for office, network with the local Democratic Party big whigs, and also hoot and holler and get home late from a Black Oak Arkansas concert.
He is a Michigan boy, played hockey, football, eats McDonald's by the bucket full, can drink beer with either hand. Knows all the eff about Chomsky and Zinn and whatever else liberal crap you got.
He lets me into his home to talk about my books, talk bad about George Bush, drink his beer, eat his shrimp. He cares. He's trying. He's doing good things. He's going to do lots more good things.
Joe said: "There are no tinfoil hats. These guys can do anything."
Do-do. Do-do. Do-do. Do-do.
I am impressed, but I'm glad to be gone.
I'm always glad to be gone.
Remember my comfort zone? I always feel lucky to talk to the people I meet. I don't know what they think about me, but I am happy to be able to say what's on my mind.
And I'm also always very happy to get back into the rusty, brown Honda and put on the headphones and dial up the Dixie Chicks or Steve Earle to celebrate the freedom of the road, being alone, on the way, going somewhere, else.
Well, I took I-75 Sunday through the heart of Detroit, past Comerica Stadium.
I was able to get the Twins-Tigers for a short time on my headphones.
I can't help but stare right and left at the city, at the neighborhoods.
Poverty is interesting. Affluence is boring.
I wonder about what goes on in that house, down that street, in that park. I drove around Kansas City in the black neighborhood I was going to read in, Milwaukee, Minneapolis. I just don't understand why we allow poverty. I just don't get it. Some people live in these types of neighborhoods and we all just accept it. I remember doing a story on Mexicans in Minnesota who lived in a goddamn compound, like a prison camp, for a portion of the year, just to work for one of the canning companies. Geezuz-eff! What is wrong with us?
Look out for the big-effing truck.
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