Please, have some decency.
Just as we may irrationally apply bad traits to those who disagree with us, I irrationally project good qualities onto those who share my views. I find myself Googling my favorite pundits and reporters’ marital status.
Just my luck, my political crushes are gay or married. All the best pundits are taken!
(Actually, one is single, and I hope he has noticed my pointed liking of all his tweets.)
Recently, one of my friends helped host a fund-raiser for our candidate. I went to support the cause and take advantage of the target-rich environment for finding the ideologue of my dreams.
I dressed as hot as is acceptable for the politically conscious. I aspired to look like Scandal’s Olivia Pope during Sweeps Week.
Through my political beer-goggles, all the men there were attractive. They seemed smarter, more sensitive and thoughtful than most. I knew they respected me and my opinions, and I appreciated that. What better foundation for a relationship than shared goals and worldviews?
And, wow, donating to a political campaign? That showed they cared about others and had disposable income. I was impressed.
And I hadn’t even talked to one yet.
Knowing we had at least one thing in common, I was more outgoing. I struck up a conversation with a well-dressed, sophisticated man standing by the cheese plate. We got to talking about campaign strategy.
And at some point, through my fog of preapproval, I noticed he was lecturing me. He seemed to think he knew exactly what our candidate should do. He asked me only rhetorical questions to set up his next point. And he didn’t ask my opinion at all.
I guess he thought he didn’t have to.
I practiced my debate-podium smile as he speechified, but I was thinking he didn’t look sophisticated as much as he looked too old for me. He seemed more capable of pedantry than insight. I wondered if he was ever going to stop talking.
Where’s a good moderator when you need him?
Eventually, I escaped to the bar.
Election Day can’t come soon enough.
Twelve Hundred of My Closest Friends
Lisa
I have good news to report for the world.
People are awesome and getting even better.
How do I know this?
Because of a completely unscientific study conducted every October at my house, in the form of a massive party for complete and total strangers.
Here’s how it works.
As you may know, when I’m not writing fun stories like these, I write novels that involve murder, mayhem, and the Philadelphia suburbs.
They’re fictional.
Allegedly.
Specifically, I write three books a year; a standalone that published in April, one of these fun books with Francesca in July, and an installment in the Rosato & DiNunzio series, which comes out in August.
I’m the Jekyll and Hyde of authors.
Dark Lisa writes thrillers, and Light Lisa writes jokes.
So whatever your mood, read me.
I can make you happy or homicidal.
Just ask Thing One or Thing Two.
I’m happy to say that book clubs read my books, so to encourage and reward such exemplary behavior, Francesca and I host a party in October for book clubs who have read my last April book. The party is at my house, since Mother Mary taught me that the best way to show people that you care about them is to have them over and feed them carbohydrates.
We started the party eleven years ago, when only one hundred people came.
My favorite weekend of the year!
Only.
Now we’ve grown to a two-day party, with six hundred book club members each day.
That’s one thousand two hundred guests total, which is approximately 20,283,829,012,938,383 carbohydrates.
I live on a farm, so I have plenty of room to accommodate everyone, except for my dogs and cats, who are imprisoned in various bedrooms for the weekend. Francesca’s dog Pip is permitted at the party, since he’s the only one with manners, obviously because he has a better mother.
To get to my point, if you invite six hundred people to your house, the only way to greet them properly is to hug them.
I’m a hugger.
So is Francesca.
And what that means, in terms of the book-club party, is that we hug every guest when he or she arrives.
By the way, men come to the book-club party, too.
I personally enjoy hugging them very much.
But they don’t smell as good as the women, who are positively fragrant.
Now in terms of my unscientific study, I am here to report to you that eleven years ago, when I started hugging unsuspecting book-club members, they didn’t know how to react. Some looked startled, others simply drew away. They weren’t expecting to be hugged by a complete stranger, which is a thoroughly reasonable expectation. Plus they’d read only the Dark Lisa books, so they didn’t know what to do when Light Lisa tackled them with love.
There were plenty of Awkward Hugs.
An Awkward Hug is the worst thing ever. You know how it goes, one person is the hugger and the other person gasps for oxygen.
I’ve had marriages that were one long Awkward Hug.
Boy, bye.
But over the years, I’ve noticed that people at the book-club party have started hugging back, and not only that, they want to be hugged. In fact, our most recent book-club party was this past weekend, and many book-club members said, “Where’s my hug?”
And these weren’t people who had been to the book-club party before, but were book-club-party virgins.
They had never met me or Francesca, but they were happy to be hugged, and we all hugged each other like crazy.
And I’m telling you, this is a change that I have seen over eleven years.
Either we need more love or we’re giving more love, but either way, this is a miraculous and wonderful improvement for all mankind, womankind, and book kind.
By the way, if you’re wondering how long it takes to hug six hundred people, the answer is, two and a half hours. That means I got and gave five hours of hugs this past weekend, and I’m betting it will add five hours to my life.
And seriously folks, if you ask me the reason that I not only read books but write them, it’s to connect with people. That’s the highest and best purpose of the arts, and I believe there is nurturance, happiness, and love in that human connection. Book clubs are a way for people to connect to each other through a book, forming a soul-to-soul bond that can become a friendship lasting ten, twenty, and even thirty years. I’ve seen it happen, and if you’re in a book club and you agree with me, let me hear from you.
And if you’re not in a book club, why not start one?
Then come over my house and get a hug.
Love is better than hate, at all times.
Running on Empty
Francesca