never thought that I'd find myself at two o'clock in the morning,
hanging solo on a corner in uptown Charlotte, having two kind older
black women telling me to stop preaching about war and the prison
industrial complex. Yet there I was, one block from the Charlotte
Convention Center, hailing a taxi for two sixty-something Georgia
peaches who had missed the shuttle back to their motel.
Democrats were masturbating one another last night, pretending that
America is not at war and that the current administration is a friend
to all immigrants, about 100 wet and wild protesters hit the concrete
despite rain by the bucketload and a tough day in the streets. By
Tuesday evening, more than a dozen activists had been arrested
outside of the convention, including some immigrants' rights
picketers who caused a scene as delegates filed inside.
wasn't a conspiracy that more protest news didn't come out of the
Republican National Convention. There weren't utterly significant
events to report, let alone a larger bloodbath for journalists to
hang a week of coverage on. Considering the circumstances,
authorities in Tampa weren't all that unreasonable; the few arrests
that did go down could have been avoided if protesters heeded simple
requests from cops.
that you're making a documentary about baseball. But instead of
filming from the sidelines, reading up on the sport, and interviewing
players, you boldly bombard the mound, kick the pitcher in the dick,
and record the crowd's reaction. You'd probably end up with a movie
about angry baseball fans, and perhaps even be able to pepper it with
footage of yourself getting tackled by infielders.
thing really resonates when this many Republicans convene for a
circle jerk, it's what a bunch of fucking losers they are. Not under
the traditional definition; I'm sure that the ex-jocks, cigarette
boat owners, and other Neanderthals inside of the Tampa Bay Times
Forum think they're pretty sweet, and have spent much of their lives
maligning those who are socially awkward yet smart, kind, and
that this would be depraved. Not because I came down here with an
anus full of substances; if the $50 million in security preemptively
accomplished one thing, it was to scare me out of smuggling mushrooms
in my undies. Rather, my premonition came at Logan airport, where I
sat stranded in the terminal for two hours with the likes of Mitt
Romney cohort Eric Fehrnstrom, who's best known lately for boosting
Etch A Sketch sales; anti-choice, anti-marijuana, pro-charter school
New Hampshire Senator Kelly Ayotte; and Boston Herald gasbag
Howie Carr, who was rocking short-shorts and Birkenstocks despite the
promise that he'd sport bright-yellow hurricane year
2004 Democratic and Republican national conventions were all about
the bloggers. Mainstream reporters even wrote articles about their
scrappy young counterparts, who in turn provided some long overdue
alternative coverage to the mostly mundane quadrennial festivities.
Four years later it was Twitter that was red hot, though mostly only
insiders, reporters, and attendees took advantage of the service,
since it had yet to fully click with the American public.