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A Lost Opportunity

I wish I had been at City Hall on Monday when Mayor Bloomberg signed the term limit extension bill. Residents were allowed to express their opinions about the bill before he signed it, and they were each given two minutes to speak. I only found out about this hearing when it was already halfway over, and that’s a shame. If I had known about it earlier, I would’ve gone down to City Hall and waited in line. And then when it was my turn to speak, with every major news organization in the tri-state area pointing their television cameras at me…I would’ve pretended that I have a stuttering problem. “Mr. Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Muh Mayor!”

My reasons for doing this are twofold. First, I would’ve wanted to delay this unjust bill from being signed into law for as long as possible. Second, it would’ve been interesting to have seen whether or not they would have enough sympathy to extend the two minute time limit for a man who stutters. Around the eleven minute mark, after getting out nothing but, “Mr. Mayor, I came here today to vehemently oppose this bill,” I would’ve said, without stuttering, “This inhumane practice of shark finning needs to stop! Oh, by the way, I don’t really stutter. Thank you.” Or maybe I would’ve gone with something a bit more historical. “Your Highness, mark my words! If you continue to tax our tea, my fellow patriots will throw that tea into the river!” A little shameless self- promotion wouldn’t have hurt anyone either: “I will appearing at the Comedy Cellar on November 22. Get your tickets now.” That’s not true, but fuck ‘em. I have the mic. That reminds me…a few weeks ago, I decided to start a blog. I’m still working on that, but if it was already completed, the term limits hearing would’ve been a great place to promote it. Unfortunately, I have neither a comedy show or a blog to promote. The best I could’ve done was to say, “You can find me on Myspace. My user name is Jessica Alba’s Sex Slave.” I have a great deal of my writing on that “blog,” not realizing when I signed up for it that no one on Myspace knows how to read. Either way, after successfully pulling off this stuttering thing, I would’ve become a media sensation. Reporters would’ve flocked to Jessica Alba to get her reaction, and she would’ve said, “He’s cute! I think I’m going to leave my husband!” And since my writings are often of a political nature, reporters would ask me questions on foreign policy, making me no different than Joe The Plumber, with a few important exceptions:

1) I’m not retarded;

2) Joe The Plumber will never date Jessica Alba;

3) I’m not a plant of the McCain campaign, and I am not related to a member of the Keating Five;

4) I don’t have a publicist, and I’m not a dumb redneck who wants to record a country western album

5) Within the next six months, everyone will forget who Joe The Plumber was, while historians will write books about me for at least the next five-hundred years; and

6) I’m not bald

Okay, so maybe Joe The Plumber and I aren’t that similar after all. Regardless, this whole situation reminds me of the quotation from author Flora Whittemore, who said, “The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live,” the important difference being that, in terms of the public hearing at City Hall, I didn’t even know that that “door” existed until it was too late. The only doors I’ll be walking through are secret doors, which lead into secret bars, and I’ll be walking through them without Jessica Alba, and without the media hanging on my every word.

It’s just not the same.

 

 

November 7, 2008

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