Oh yeah, the Park Slope crowd is more my speed than Tish James’ assemblage could ever have been. For me, attending a de Blasio party is like a springy walk down the gentrified street, augmented with speeches, banners and drinks. Even my goo-coated sense of insufficiency is the same as in my day-to-day realm, though this time informed by my uncomfortable encounter with the man himself. Yes, the de Blasio woman is my kind of woman, the kind I would settle down with if she’d let me. The only impediment is the goo. But that goo comes from the mind, so a quick trip to the bar is apt to dam its flow.

“Andrew Lederer!”

Too late. I turn, sober au goo.

“It’s nice to see you.” (Can’t remember her name.)

“I’m surprised. You didn’t look too happy last time.”

“Yeah, I did consider deeming you dead to me, but then I remembered I may have been unctuous or over-attentive or even undesirable the time before and maybe your seemingly inexplicable hostility was due to that. Your attitude being perhaps my fault, I let you live, albeit in a rarely visited recess of my mind. You missed out, though. If you hadn’t cut me off that night, you might have learned…”

“Enough with the words already.”

“We are not made for each other.”

“Clearly. But how have you been? What have you been doing?”

“You don’t know? That explains your continued hostility. I’d think you would…”

“Stop putting so many words to every thought.”

“You might be less judgmental and a bit more obsequious if you knew I was now a (wait for it) congressman.

“No.”

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With this in mind, since it’s been a disappointing election, I just GOTTA get into this party. The Letitia James one. I rushed back to it. No missed hot dogs for me in 2013.

Pulsations from inside pulsate me, but in place, not toward the entry. I’m goin’ up and down, not to or fro.

Fro is a possibility, though, bro. Thing is, I’m scared, not scared for my life, scared of being embarrassed. Every time I get a certain distance from the door, I can go no further. There are big, black guys in big, black suits outside, meant to be intimidating, I guess, and they intimidated me. They look like the guys who won’t let you (me) into a club because you’re (I’m) not cool enough.

They had guys like that a couple of months ago outside Long Island College Hospital, a hospital the state was trying to close so they could sell the land for condos. The hospital, by court order, was open, but they put those guys there to scare people, so they wouldn’t go in, so they’d feel insufficiently cool to get medical attention. If I were having a heart attack and that was the only hospital I could get to, I would surely die.

And, get this, it was a hospital Leticia James was at the forefront of trying to keep open. Maybe she hired those guys for her party as make-good for putting them out of work when she and de Blasio saved the hospital.

By the way, I know of at least 3 people who saw those guys outside the hospital and thought someone was having a dance party there. (My brain, in its best Belushi “food fight” voice is screaming, “HOSPITAL DANCE PARTY!!!!!!!!”)