Friday dinner, again

All right, starting with essential information: Friday dinner is on, 7PM, 88 7th Avenue.

I was going to stop right here but just can't help keep going. I think every one of you will surprise me some time one way or another. Take the mid-term election for example. Do you know at least one of us do care about the outcome and took bus to Washington D.C. to attend the liberal rally? This person can't vote; he is new to this country; that whichever party is majority in congress probably would have minimal impact on his own life. But he made the effort to witness the rally. For a lot of people I met, Washington DC is merely a tourism destination. They go there to see those buildings they saw in news. Once a year they associate the city with cherry blossom, which is the primary reason that they took the pain to drive for 5 hours to go down there. The outcome? Facebook pictures with her and/or him standing in front of a tree... Few people around me go there for political rally, not even for Smithsonian or National Archives. My guess is that some girls probably still think National Mall is a place to do discount shopping. We should feel proud of this friend of us. Were he born earlier, I believe he would go to Washington D.C. to watch Bob Dylan and Joan Baez performing in 1963 while most of us only take a glance at the headline...

Of course people have reason NOT to care. Recently I was walking in the subway underpass at 14th Street between 6th and 7th Avenue. There was this guy, most likely homeless, with signs putting up next to him read: New York Times published poet. I didn't have the courage to read his poem, which was taped to the lower part of the signs. When I walked by, a student-like girl was talking to him. I heard names popping up from their conversation. They probably were talking about some famous poets he knew or met before. I imagined he must have met Allen Ginsberg, who lived around the neighborhood for many years. But even his poem was published in NYT and he spoke with Ginsberg in person, he is still a homeless. The sight made me feel really bad. For a moment this poor guy stands for every reason why people wouldn't care.

But quickly Obama jumped into my mind. Everyone knows that the President had a poem published in New Yorker. I console myself with the thought that a published poet could be anything from homeless to president. I just happened to read that Georgia O'Keefe lived in a 28th floor penthouse in luxurious Shelton Hotel(now Marriot in East Side) for 12 years, which is a sharp contrast to a miserable life in subway underpass. For us who lead a mundane life in the middle, let's feel grateful for the dull fact that we still can have a happy dinner on Friday. Nevertheless I encourage you to go with our friend to next political rally. We need to care things beyond ourselves.