Party Time

My name is Sir Bacon.

And I am a Republican.

Well, registered Republican.

It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.

Even though I rarely seem to vote that way.

Obama.

Voted for him.

Kerry.

Voted for him.

Clinton.

Voted for him.

And I would vote for her too.

“So exactly what part of Republican are you?”

Good question.

Deep down, I think I believe in the principles of the Republican Party.

You know.

What’s mine is mine.

And what’s yours is mine.

But when it comes time to hang my chad, I just can’t pull the trigger.

And if you can’t pull a trigger, you are not a true Republican.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t play one on TV.

You see the Republican Caucus recently came to my town.

Specifically an elementary school right around the corner from my house.

The invitation was taped on my door.

It came from Ron and Steve.

And they shared the same last name.

I’m assuming they were brothers.

After all, they are Republican.

The invite said that the festivities would start at 7pm.

Sharp.

Which they did.

Unfortunately I didn’t arrive until closer to 7:20.

And by the time I got there, all of the Presidential talk was done.

I’m sure it went something like this.

I love Newt’s hair.

I love Mitt’s hair.

I love Mitt’s name.

Ron Paul has two names.

Let’s vote Santorum.

With that out of the way, we moved onto the other items on the menu.

Like... Who Wants to Be a Delegate?

Our version of... Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?

Only this room was filled with Republicans.

So everyone there was already a millionaire.

There were a total of 52 people in the room.

42 Men.

10 Women.

1 Asian.

The others were as white as they come.

In fact, the room was so white, there was even a couple there named White.

Now I’m not sure if the fact that 51 of the 52 in our group were caucasian is more of a sign of it being a Republican Caucus.

Or the neighborhood I live in.

But either way, I fit right in.

As long as I didn’t mention that I was Jewish.

The first step to picking our delegates was listening to a 30-second pitch from each of the dozen candidates.

Each candidate came prepared.

With a pre-prepared zinger.

“I want to fumigate the White House.”

“This is our country and we need to take it back.”

“I believe in the Constitution.”

“I used to live in Upstate New York.  That’s when I was a Democrat.”

“I was raised in Springfield, Illinois and I learned a lot from Abraham Lincoln.”

You mean the guy who freed the slaves.

Are you sure you are in the right place?

One of the speakers claimed to be an author.

He said he sold his books at gun shows.

And Tea Party rallies.

He didn’t look familiar to me.

After we voted in our delegates, it was time to propose some resolutions.

We were told that any passed resolutions would go directly from our dry erase board to our local Republican party.

Then to the state Republicans.

Followed by the federal Republicans.

And if any of our resolutions make it all the way to the Dems.

Then they would go straight to the shredder.

But it’s not about the end result.

It’s about the process.

“This is how you can have a voice in the party,” we were told.

“This is what the Republican platform comes from.”

And the whole time I thought it came from Fox News Channel.

From our room, there were three resolutions proposed.

One opposed “all forms of gun control.”

One wanted us to “repeal ObamaCare.”

And one said poor people should pay higher taxes.

Ok, I made that one up.

But it could've happened.

According to our master of ceremonies, all three resolutions passed.

“With very few no votes.”

I guess I qualify as very few.

The meeting lasted all of 68 minutes.

And despite what you’ve been reading for the last 664 words, I really did enjoy myself.

I’m not sure that I am any more Republican now than I was before the Caucus.

And I’m certainly not any more likely to vote Republican in the next election.

But it did feel good to spend an evening surrounded by people I have absolutely nothing in common with.

One Step Up, One Step Back

Slavery to Homosexuality.

What a perfect day.

From Gettysburg to The Kennedy Center.

With the Smithsonian in the middle.

If anybody ever tells you there’s not enough to do in Washington DC.

Call them a liar.

Thankfully we are with a tour group.

And I didn’t have to plan any of this itinerary.

But we haven’t stopped moving since we got here.

And I’m loving every second of it.

Our morning began with a 90-minute drive to Southern Pennsylvania.

That was followed by a 90-minute guided tour through one of the most famous battles of our civil war.

Driving through the battlegrounds of Gettysburg was incredible.

The stop at the museum was just as good.

As we left Gettysburg, we all knew that we had just experienced an incredible sense of history.

And we all had the same reaction.

T.G.W.W.

Thank God We Won.

And because the Union won Gettysburg.

The Union won the Civil War.

And because the Union won the Civil War.

Slaves were freed.

Three, maybe four million of them.

Became a part of us.

Eventually.

A moment in time that changed the world.

Thankfully.

The trip was absolutely incredible.

Amazing.

Emotional.

Historic.

And the kids liked it too.

Fast forward eight hours.

Back to DC.

Our group helped fill a small theatre at the Kennedy Center.

We were there to see a play called Shear Madness.

Very creative and entertaining show with HEAVY audience participation.

As a parent, I consider myself pretty liberal.

If you need examples, I’ve got plenty.

Well the show we saw had a handful of sketchy words.

And dicey gestures.

And messy jokes.

Not quite dirty.

Definitely not filthy.

Just a little messy.

But there was one interesting angle that caught the attention of the parents sitting in front of me.

How do I know?

I was eavesdropping.

The parents were apparently offended that there was a gay character in the play.

Not a happy character.

A homosexual one.

I heard them say it was highly inappropriate to expose their teenage child to a gay character.

Not an exact quote.

Just the cliff notes.

I guess they don’t watch Glee at their house.

Too bad.

For them.

I’m not sure what they were expecting from this play.

Or why they were there.

Or why they stayed.

But it made me sad.

Sad for the parents that they feel that way.

Sad for the kids that their parents feel that way.

Sad for me that a day that made me feel so good about how far we've come.

Ended with reminder of how far we still have to go.

Star Trek

If you could have dinner with any three people, who would they be?

I’ve always loved that question.

Honestly, I’ve never put my list together, but I love the possibilities.

Some more obvious than others.

Abraham Lincoln, John Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr.

Obvious.

Buddy Holly, Jackie Robinson, John Steinbeck.

Not so much.

Robert DeNiro, Mel Brooks, Lucille Ball.

Order an extra dessert. 

I’m not sure which three it would be.

But I’m pretty sure it would include someone from sports, someone from politics and definitely someone from music.

Or maybe all three would be from the music world, as long as they brought their guitars.

But as much fun as it might be to meet one of my heroes, it is also something that I’m totally ok if it never happens.

Just imagine if you met your idol and he or she was a jerk.

I’ve never met Bono or Dylan or Madonna.

And it’s probably better that way.

It’s definitely better for them.

My friend David met Bruce Springsteen at a bar in LA.

And Bruce was.... great.

David has a picture of the two of them in his living room.

My other friend David delivered pizza to Wayne Gretzky’s house.

And he got a signed pizza box.

And a nice tip.

Sunday I got a chance to meet one of my musical heroes.

Up close and personal.

For at least five seconds.

More on that in a moment.

With my family in town this weekend, we did quite a bit of traveling around Manhattan.

They wanted to see Times Square and the Empire State Building and of course, FAO Schwarz.

Check, check and check.

Sunday, our big stop was a meal in Little Italy.

So we took the E train to Spring Street.

It was about a ten-minute walk through SoHo to get to the world famous Mulberry Street.

Along the way, we did some window shopping and food cart smelling.

As we approached a main intersection, we noticed a group of five singers and a stand-up bass player making some incredible noise.

From the caddy corner, we could hear them singing, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” loud and VERY clear.

A song, my seven-year old was hoping to hear on Broadway at the stage version of The Lion King.

“Um, sweetie, how about if we hear five strangers singing the same song on a street corner instead?”

For free.

So we followed our ears and headed that way.

We heard them sing that song and about five others, dropping some appreciation in the tip jar along the way.

Midway through the set, a lady walked right up next to us.

Within a beat or two, she started singing to the music.

Well, actually whispering to the music.

As if she didn’t want to be heard.

And based on the baseball cap pulled down over her eyes.

And the sunglasses covering them.

She didn’t want to be seen either.

Sorry ma’am, if you’re trying to fly under the radar, you’ve just landed on the wrong runway.

I looked over, about five times, then whispered to my wife...

“That’s Melissa Etheridge.”

Now that may not be a big deal to you.

And if it is not, you’ve never heard her music.

“Yes I Am” is one of the greatest CDs of the 90’s.

“Like The Way I Do,” is one of the most powerful songs in the last 25 years.

I own all of her records.  

I’ve seen her in concert several times.  

I have been inspired by her more than several times.

But I wasn’t about to be that guy.

She clearly didn’t want to be recognized.

So I didn’t recognize her.

Until she started walking down the street, away from the crowd.

That’s when I walked up right behind her and mumbled, “Melissa?”

She turned and said, “Yes.”

“Melissa, I just want to thank you for your music.   You have truly inspired me,” I said.

“Thank you.  What is your name?”

OMG.

Melissa Etheridge just asked me my name.

What the hell do I say?

After what felt like a long pause to me, I told her my name.

She then shook my hand and informed me that it was nice for her to meet me.

It was nice for HER to meet ME?

Honestly, I could care less if that exact line came from page 93 of the “How Celebrities Should Deal with Stalkers” handbook.

Melissa Etheridge just shook MY hand and said it was nice to meet me.

How cool.

Sitting here now, several hours later, I have about four million things I could have said. 

But about one milli-second after she let go of my hand, she went her way and I went mine.

That was it.

My family came up to me seconds later and asked how it went.

“Great,” I said.  “I now have a blog for today...”

...And a moment I will never forget.