Congratulations to Zohran and Rama!
So, I was gonna write a post today about Trump’s latest retreat in his trade war with China.
Or maybe about the ICE arrest of Ras Baraka, the Mayor of Newark New Jersey. Did I tell you about the time I met his dad, the great writer and activist, Amiri Baraka?
But the headline in this morning’s New York Post caught my attention.
Zohran Mamdani, in case you are not from New York, is the progressive candidate for Mayor of this city, running in next months Democratic primary.
He’s not the only progressive running. But New York election law allows for rank voting.
So I don’t have to choose one to go after the grifter and sexual predator, Andrew Cuomo.
Eric Adams, the discredited incumbent, has dropped out of the primary, flirted with becoming a Republican and will now run in November as an independent.
I, like a growing number of registered Democratic voters, will be ranking Zohran first.
Mamdani’s rise in the polls, his 2,000 volunteers, the fact that he has raised more money from more people, from more areas of the city, has put the fear of god into the opposition.
That in addition to a campaign of making New York affordable: free busses, a rent freeze, city-owned groceries in every borough and free childcrare.
To cover his bets, Cuomo recently he announced he will run on his own ballot line in November in case he loses the Democratic primary to Zohran.
And now the Post, whose wildly sensational headlines are a source of jokes and scorn, has exposed the fact that Mamdani had a Muslim wedding to a Syrian artist with his family in Dubai.
The Post made it sound like it was an extravagant affair right out of the movie, Monsoon Wedding.
And while it wasn’t as modest as Anne’s and my wedding, it was pretty modest.
The Post tried to make it all into some kind scandal.
“Secretly married!”
“Muslim!”
“Indian wedding!”
“Syrian wife!”
Jeez. What a bunch of racist shit.
By the way, Anne and I were married by a friend who had gotten a certificate to marry people from the back of Rolling Stone magazine. After which we bought fifty bucks worth of liquor (1973 prices) and invited 50 of our closest friends to a party in our apartment.
Al Green sang Le’t Stay Together on the stereo.
And we have stayed together for nearly 50 years.
I wish Zohran and Rama that and more.
Also, if the Post wanted a scandal headline, there is this one.
In an era when politicians (one in particular) are caught doing everything from sexual assault to accepting billion dollar airplanes as gifts, getting married seems pretty tame to me.