Salt Lake City, UT
Salt Lake City, UT
It's late afternoon and I'm sitting at a park bench in a small park near Memory Grove. A cool breeze flows over me, and it is a gorgeous late September day in Salt Lake City. I gaze hypnotically at the crowds milling in and out at the part of City Creek Mall's large open plaza that finally merges with Temple Square while listening to vintage Floyd through humongous headphones and puffing away on a pinner, when, suddenly, I know she is here. A shiver inducing chill cuts through the pleasant cool breeze like an iceberg through the Titanic and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"What the fu...." Suddenly I'm wide awake. The amber lit digital display on my clock radio reads "3:02 AM" Summer is standing above me yelling "Wake up Gerald! For God's sake!"
"Jesus, Summer, alright I'm awake. Stop yelling. You'll wake up the neighbors, I'll get evicted." I'm even more wake now. "How did you get in here?" I ask.
"With this nifty little bogus warrant." She replies. But she is not her perky self. She is anxious. I can tell she is worried....about something.
"Summer-it's 3AM for crying out loud. What do you want?"
"Mitt Romney has it!"
Summer is ebullient, bouncy fancy and free. Her long legs, designer stockings and Jimmy Choos compete with the brightness of the day. Butterflies rise and circle around her. Bees drone lazily in the spring blossoms.
Summer DiVino, fresh from her FBI retraining seminar, described as a “Clarification on FISA Title 3 Monitoring” is all smiles. To hear Summer tell it, the Seminar was little more than a “Summer Retreat”. She was “invited” to attend the Seminar after her botched attempts to establish a romantic relationship with Yasser Affifi came to the attention of her FBI superiors.
Outside its lush, green and incredibly muggy. It's early fall and I'm driving Summer's new maroon Hummer to Quantico, VA where Summer will spend what promises to be the 20 most challenging weeks of her life. Summer flew first class and asked, well more like 'told' me in a threatening manner, to drive her new Hummer from the dealership in Salt Lake City to Virginia. Summer agreed to pay for some expenses and motel accommodations and for my trip back to SLC, but this is still a huge losing proposition for me. At this moment, I'm less than an hour from Quantico and after three days of intense driving and alternating back and forth between zoning out and trying to stay awake, my nerves are frayed and I have begun to hallucinate.
Traditional media sources have reported that Yassir Afifi was harassed by FBI agents who attached a warrant less GPS tracking device to his car. Bland news outlets, apologetic FBI press releases and boring court documents tell one story...Crazypoliticos.com and it's dedicated staff of "involved" reporters tells another. By way of further disclaimer to anyone who wants to challenge any of the factual statements that form the basis of this story: Crazypoliticos.com practices the same high journalistic and ethical standards practiced by publications owned by Rupert Murdoch! And as you can see from the following the Murdoch Media Empire could learn a thing or two from Summer DiVino.
Small things change everything. On the drive to my house to call Michele Bachmann from my cell about the Wiccan on her block, Summer was driving, chewing gum, talking on her cell and listening to pop radio with the volume turned all the way up when Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl" suddenly blasted into the passenger compartment. Thing about it is that the person on the other end of the phone with Summer was her new found, self appointed Pastor, "Johnny", who heard Perry singing in the background and used that as a springboard to launch into a diatribe about how dangerous and seductive today's entertainment industry can be for newly converted Christian fundamentalists like Summer DiVino. Pastor Johnny counsels the women in his wife's "Women's Christian's Group". He also orchestrates his own music for the group. The radio station playing Perry's song, it turns out, is a particular favorite of Summer's and the thought of giving up the station mortified her.
Well, to make a long story short, after Summer DiVino hung up with Pastor Johnny she drove to the radio station to politely ask them to quit playing Perry's song. I know this because she called me while driving there.
I'm reclining on the couch, getting ready to smoke a fat one and peruse some questionable websites that will probably leave me with a depleted bank account and a plethora of viruses. My cell phone rings and Summer's name and our picture appear on the display next to a large sunflower. Summer's arm drapes around me and she's sporting a goofy syrupy smile that suggests she might have been robo'ing for the last two years without a break. I'm wearing a pink t-shirt that Summer purchased for me to wear to the Gay Parade last summer. She is beaming, but for some reason I'm glum, morose even. The shirt is bright fluorescent pink. Stenciled in bold black letters is “Fuck you if you voted for Prop 8, you fucking bigot” She picked the shirt up for five bucks at a local thrift store in a splurge of rare generosity. “Fuck!” I scream to an empty room. Not answering the phone is not an option.
It is March 2004, I'm huddled outside a bar in Vernal, Utah. Summer DiVino is coming out the side door, walking towards me. "He won't come" she is mouthing. "Did you show him some cleavage?" She nods affirmatively, like an enthusiastic and yet disheartened puppy. "Well, did you tell him you're a virgin?" Her face erupts in an explosion of dismay and self recrimination as she immediately turns back and reenters the bar. A few moments later she returns with "him", the Big Kahuna, in tow. Osama's 6'5" frame is difficult to hide, even in Vernal, Utah, but his polished returned missionary look fooled everyone, except Summer. She had gone to Vernal in October 2003 to binge drink and pick asparagus when she says she spied Osama looking lustily in her direction and recognized him immediately. She remembers the moment, the exact moment distinctly, because she remembers thinking "Bingo!".
Summer knows 25 million dollars when she sees it and paramour and prey all wrapped up in one package made her feel powerful and sexy, like a preying mantis getting in the mood.