In all my gayness left over from yesterday's performance of the Nutcracker, I forgot to relate the best part. So afterwards, I'm out front and trying to keep tabs on the little ones, two Grandma's and a more than an "I've had it" wife when I almost got run over by a five foot tall peace sign. It was being wheeled by the requisite hippie chick. No doubt the offspring of some hippie chick or perhaps, even worse, the child of some uber republican monobrowed business suit somewhere. "How can I get back at my dad for all those years of oppression and tyranny? I could get up on stage and do my thing slinked around a pole but that would be too cliche and I'm not that into being nude. ...Has to be something else, but has to really make his skin crawl. ...I know, I'll wheel a gigantic peace sign around the financial district during commute times. During the off periods I'll hit the ballet/theater/symphonic crowd." Or so I imagined. Anyway, it's not enough to think about all those in harms way, our own, their own, and everyone else caught in the middle. No, I'm afraid I need to be steamrolled as well. I was hoping to see the guy with the cross on a wheel as I haven't seen him in a while and where's the person with the global warming icon to really get my conscience going? Not sure what the global warming icon would be. Maybe a melting icecap? Al Gore's head on a stick? My wife, out of pure fear, would not let me talk to the peace sign wheeler. I was going to, but didn't know how to begin. In that nanosecond of a pause, she shoved me forward with a "don't even think about it" look.

Johnny GoFastwhenabouttoberunoverbyapeacesign