The Dark Side Rising Diet: Week 2

It's harvest time. So instead of thinking about the looming election, look through seed catalogs. Because not even George W. Bush can kill the daffodils.

By Anne Lamott

Sep 17, 2004 | My Jesuit friend Tom called the other day, and said that if we were serious about the Dark Side Rising Diet and exercise plan, we should walk around the new Geisha exhibit at the Asian Art Museum, with our friend Buddy, and then have lunch.

"Going out and doing intensely cultural stuff is a subversive act -- since if Bush does win, libraries and museums will be closed. Also, I think we should go because Bush especially hates the Japanese."

"How come?"

"Because his father threw up on them."

We met outside the museum, and sat in the sun for a while, eating grapes and waiting for Buddy. He was returning from a bus trip to Sacramento, Calif., where he was protesting a speeding ticket, and might be late.

"What would Jesus do right now?" I asked, referring to the state of our union. "Do you think he would take one look around, and just run for his life? Muttering that we'd missed every single point he had tried to make?"

"No," said Tom, "he would want to, but he'd stick around, to take care of everyone who was hungry. I think he'd start by making soup."

"Then what?"

"Then he'd sit down and eat with everyone. Because they were family."

We watched people pass by as we ate our grapes. So many people looked sad and really worried. I thought of a button I used to have that said, "I'm not tense -- I'm just very, very alert." That pretty much says it.

"Then, when they had eaten," Tom continued, "he'd encourage everyone to get up and moving again. He'd ask them to help Him pick litter up off the street."

I decided then and there that during these seven weeks until the election, I would not only walk to the post office every day to mail off money or voter registration forms, but I'd also begin a trash pickup project, so that one wrapper at a time, I could make the world nicer.

Buddy finally arrived. He is Father Tom's best friend, and you may remember him from an earlier piece about our experiences on a cruise ship. He's in his mid-50s, and looks sort of seedy: overweight, with missing front teeth, and hair like he's just gotten out of bed. He comes to church with me sometimes, even though he's a Lutheran and as such does not approve of us singing and clapping so loudly. (I've tried to explain to him that clapping your hands while singing about love and peace scares the devil away, but he won't listen.)

"I need you both to come to Sacramento and protest my fine," Buddy announced. "Or else it will stay on my record, and my insurance rates will go up."

"You were guilty," said Tom. "You were speeding. I'm going to testify for the opposition."

Buddy covered his ears with his hands, and cried out, "Please don't say one mean thing to me today. Not until after the election."

Next Page: The sexiest part of the geisha's body is the nape of the neck, the portal to the possible

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