I 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.

While 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.

It 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.

Imagine 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.

If one 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 hilarious.

The 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.