Accidental Pacifist

Mona and I were just wandering around the zoo neighborhood in that rare early-spring weather when we walked straight into a peace march—anti-war placards, demands for troop withdrawals from Afghanistan, solidarity with conscientious objectors doing time for refusing to serve. We didn’t plan on joining. We joined anyway. Danced a bit, draped PACE flags over our shoulders, and shouted for a better world. Loud.

Since I couldn’t be home with family for Easter, I spent the evening at Sonja’s instead—eating vodka-soaked strawberries, staring slack-jawed at a flatscreen TV so enormous it seemed to warp the wall around it (I will own one of those, whatever it takes), and talking with Sonja’s sister, her Finnish fiancé, and their grandparents about wedding invitations, some reality TV judge, and a surprising amount of cellulite.

And sorry for going quiet here lately. I’m deep in a project that may never see daylight—but just being part of something that feels like a small sexual revolution, collecting those experiences, is already enough. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to see it someday.