Dennis the Menace

I met Dennis.

I arrived late to a memorial held downtown for our fallen soldiers in Iraq. (The national total recently hit 1,800. Thirteen from my state in this week alone.)

Though the main event was over, the feeding frenzy was not. Camera crews and photographers and politicians were in full affect. I went, with a work camera, to pay my respects (or some sort of inadequate honor) to men and women who had entered the service willingly and who had died in foreign lands. I wandered in and among the crowd, picking up bits of conversations, snapping pictures now and then. As I was leaving I saw Senator Dennis in a dark pinstripe. He was being ernestly talked to by another man, also in a dark pinstripe. As I walked past I tried to click a casual picture that he wouldn't notice. It came out horrible. As I walked away, I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn't go back and get a picture of him or with him.

The only other time I have ever seen Kuci (in person, not those horrible imp-like posters and TV spots: seriously people, he looks like a gremlin) was on the streets of Cleveland, getting out of the most beautiful Black Ferrari and walking toward me accompanied by a tall, black man in a faded leather jacket. One thing about Kuci, he's not short in person. He's just short in pictures. I didn't say anything. I just walked by.

But today I turned around and walked back to him and the other man in the dark suit. The other man left, but the instant he was gone, a third man in dark pinstripe appeared, touched Kuci's elbow and blustered something. All I heard him say as I approached was, "I'll see you at the sub-committee meeting!" If you wonder why I hate politics (and I do) it could possibly be summed up in that phrase alone. "Sub-committee meeting" makes me dry heave. And I'll tell you why. Let's break it down word by word. First of all, it's a meeting. I hate meetings. I develop MRADD (Meeting Related Attention Deficit Disorder) in meetings. My knee starts bouncing up and down at hummingbird speeds, I grip the sides of my chair or the underside of the table, I fuss with my notepad and write down every word or visual or thought that occurs in my head or in the room around me, I try to bore holes in the speaker's throat with my eyes and render them speechless. I hate meetings. Then add the word "committee," which is the bane of every god-fearing, good hearted American among us. Especially artists. Never tell an artist they have to go before a committee or be reviewed by a committee, or speak to the committee. Hateful, hateful word. Committee's have no place in the daylight world. Committees should be banashed. And lastly the prefix "sub." This means below or under. And what could be worse than being under a committee meeting? The thought is akin to being buried alive.

Long story even longer, I walked up to Kuci, tapped him on the short shoulder and stuck out my hand. He spun around. I pulled out my 'pleasure to meet you' smile and shook his hand, "I really appreciate what you're doing here." This is a lie. I do not appreciate what he was doing there, which was working the political scene as all politicians must do. I do not, in fact, appreciate anything politicians do, which is (I admit) childish and naive of me, but I'm not in the mood to mature on that point just yet. Politicians creep me out. I no likey.
I continued, "Would it be alright if I got a picture with you?"
"Sure," he smiled pleasantly with that bored look all quasi-celebrities get when plagued with pointless intrusions to their day. I searched the area for a victim who could photograph us. A video man from one of the local stations was carting away his equipment. He stopped long enough to shake Kuci's hand and get roped into taking our picture. As I handed him the camera, he set down his tripod, standing it on one end.

"Watch this trick!" He said. Pointing a finger at the balanced tripod, he backed away saying, "Sit! Staaaay!" And then smiled foolishly at me. "Thirty years to teach him that!" He added.

I laughed, "So I guess you can teach an old tripod new tricks."

He fiddled with the point-and-shoot as Kuci put an arm around my waist. I hear he's getting married again. For a moment I wondered to whom. I put my arm around him. He has the slender waist of a woman. The cameraman took three photos.

In retrospect, I wish I hadn't been standing quite that close...