Diary of a Convention: Part II (a confession)

I do have more to say about this wild week of DNC-ness (can I admit that I might sort of miss the craziness of having the DNC around? that's not the confession, however), but I feel I must first get this off my chest... because all the people I know who are more Obama-obsessed than I am will eventually find out, and then they will be horrified, and some may wish to strangle me, and so I'd rather they find out whilst not in the same room as me.

I passed up a chance to go see Obama's acceptance speech tonight.

(Pause for shocked gasps.)

I mean, it's not like there were tickets just sitting there and weren't going to be used if I didn't go. At 2:30 today (yeah, they advised people to already be in the security line by 2:00) there were 2 tickets magically appearing in our office, and 3 interested co-workers. At first, I was going to put my name in for a chance at one of the two, but then relented. After all, the other two are the most Obama-crazed people I know (see an earlier post on Obama fans; one helped inspire those feelings). The crushed look on either of their faces had they not been selected to go would have been horrible. I knew they'd want it more, not just to be a part of history, but because they may have secretly had on "Barack Star" tees under their shirts. (My teasing is directed more at Obama fans in general than at these two, mind you; I'm glad they got to go.)

I also wished them off with the condition that the rest of us please not have to hear ever detail giddily re-hashed all day tomorrow. At least one agreed.

Then there was the thought of standing in a 6-hour security line, which reportedly stretched a mile and a half at times. And the thought of the who-knows-how-long journey home afterwards (84,000 people and ALL of them took public transportation to get there. Oy to the vey). Beyond all that, though, I had a house to clean. A very dear friend of mine is coming to visit for the long labor day weekend, and there were boxes and messes and all sorts of things threatening to cause injury or discomfort, which I wished to clean up on this, my last day prior to his arrival.

So you may weep and gnash your teeth, and wish that you were in my place, for surely, you may think, you would have made the right decision and taken those 2-out-of-3 odds for a ticket, crushed co-workers be damned.

But you weren't here. And while I can't for the rest of my life say, "I was there," what I can at least say is, "I turned down the chance to be there".... which is still more than you can say.

(so there.)

Scratches on a wall

I live on the third floor of an apartment building with a particularly slow elevator, but also a particularly hot stairwell. This means that when it's very hot, or I'm very tired, or I'm carrying something heavy, I get to spend some time in the elevator as it creeps up two floors.

There are things scratched into the paint on the inside of this old elevator's doors. I've never paid too much attention to just what-- initials carved with the end of keys or who knows what, scratches from the feet of various furniture packed into the tiny space, and the like. Yesterday, after a very long and tiring day of work, as I stood in this elevator waiting to reach my final destination, I saw one scrawl that struck me as particularly poignant and intriguing, however: "I miss my mom."

Who took the time to scratch this phrase into the elevator door? A college student away from home for the first time? A young professional, overwhelmed by the demands of life and wishing for a simpler time when someone else packed their PB&J for lunch? Or, more tragically, someone whose mother is no longer around? I found myself wishing the best for the elevator graffiti's author, and hoping that he or she was able to see their mom soon, if that was a possibility.

Today was another long day. Another long walk home, through much DNC madness still occurring downtown. So once again, I found myself in the elevator. I looked back to the scribble on the wall. It was then that I noticed-- not once, not twice, but over and over the same phrase was scratched into the door: "I miss my mom."

Were they carved in one day, on someone's even longer trip up to the fourth floor? It seems unlikely, as even this elevator isn't that slow. Was each phrase added one day after the next? Were they even written by the same person, or by others echoing the original sentiment? It's impossible to know. But I feel like I want to give the scrawler a hug. So I hope someone else is.

(There was a nice woman giving out free hugs on the 16th street mall today. I got one. It made me smile. Maybe I should write that on the elevator wall.)

Diary of a Convention: Part I

Today, I stepped out of my front door, and a military helicopter buzzed past over my head, so close I wondered it didn't hit the building.

But perhaps I should rewind.

If you haven't noticed yet, a year and a few days ago I moved myself to Denver. A few days ago, insanity began to settle upon said city. Also known as, the Democratic National Convention, which officially began today. But the preparation has been going on for months (years, if you'd seen the rent-my-condo craigslist ads that were out there already when I was first looking for a place in Denver, over one year ago)-- renovating the Pepsi Center to make it all convention-esque, adjusting college schedules to allow for a week off (yeah, I go to school now right across the street from DNC central), giving downtown businesses spiffy new signs, and permanently changing bus routes lest they veer too close to the craziness for these few days.

The real fun, however, began on Saturday. That's when I first began to notice 14-year-olds with press passes. Well, at least they look like 14-year-olds. Maybe they were a bit older. College interns or something. But if you live in some other media market across the country, and are not getting great convention coverage, I could tell you why.

Saturday was actually not too nuts, yet. I had to venture downtown (by which I mean the 16th Street mall) for a few errands, and it was actually less full of bewildered tourists than any other average weekend. That's probably because normally there's a convention center (which is right downtown) full of, like, dental hygienists, or administrative assistants, or whatever other random group is convening there, who have been loosed upon the city to aimlessly wander about and gawk at such amazing sites as the Hard Rock Cafe and generally just get in the way.

Yet not everyone had quite arrived, it appeared, for the DNC; so Saturday in downtown Denver was still sort of sane. I did see about 3 or 4 lost-looking visitors almost get creamed by a MallRide bus in as many blocks, however. (Seriously? Seriously! From what place do this people come, where it is ok to just walk in the streets in a strange place? It's not even hard to avoid the MallRides. They're the only thing that drive down that street! Just don't wander immediately in front of one! I know they're all super-sneaky 'cause they're all hybrids, but... for real, yo.) I predicted at that point that no less than 3 DNC tourists would get hit by MallRides during this week. And that no less than 2 would get hit by me.

There were many cops afoot, however (and a-horse, and a-bike, and a-cop-car). All standing around in clumps looking sort of bored. One discussing how he'd picked up a bucket of frozen margaritas. (I wondered it if was to maintain him through the week, or to celebrate having gotten through it, after.) There must be untold multitudes of crimes ravaging the suburbs right now, because it appears that every member of law enforcement in a 100-mile radius has converged upon downtown. Colorado Department of Corrections busses were standing by en masse.

I guess I did see one little booth of people set up near Civic Center Park. Based on the t-shirts they were selling, however, it was really not at all clear what they were advocating or opposing. People really need to get more clear about their issues, yo.

Yesterday (Sunday), the crazies had really started to turn out. I wish I had stopped to take a picture of the "Please do not feed the leftists" sign (I was on my way to a Rockies game; the camera I had along was not, however, for that, but to capture any occasions of madness we passed along the way). Don't the silly right-wingers know that we leftist can grow our own granola and tofu and shit, and probably survive much better with no one feeding us than any right-winger ever could? I felt like I should bring veggie burritos. Or tofu. Or something equally scary to good red-blooded Republicans. And feed the leftists.

(I was also rather entertained by the sign with said something like "Al Qaeda supporters that corner / Support our troops this corner." It included helpful arrows, in case you couldn't figure out which corner was which. And may have been more inflammatory if there had actually been anyone on the other corner. Or if it had been slightly less ridiculous.)

There were also many a souvenir-seller about. Selling Obama buttons, magnets, framed photos (you could also get sets with the Clintons, as well), "Barack Star" t-shirts, etc., etc. As well as various DNC memorabilia. And burritos.

I was actually a bit disappointed by the lack of craziness downtown during my walk to work this morning. I mean, if I have to hear about the DNC a multitude of times each day for months on end, I deserve to get a glimpse of some craziness, some good stories, no? But there was no craziness to be had at 8:00am.

I heard there was some during the day, though. One of my co-workers saw a SWAT truck-- complete with an entire SWAT team hanging onto the sides and back (gotta be ready to jump into action, yo: no time to waste with trivialities like opening doors, here!) cruise past outside our window. Sadly, I missed that sight. A client reported many protestors on 16th street (this is a mere 4-5 blocks from my office, keep in mind) and SWAT teams all about. ("Don't get tear gassed," my co-worker and I were advised as we contemplated our trips home from work.)

Apparently, no one has yet gotten tear gassed. Though, this evening-- as the news reports-- the first use of pepper spray has occurred, as well as the first mass arrest of up to about 50 people. (Side note: on the news they just had a very young-looking Colorado delegate talking about how she'd forgotten she had mace in her purse before heading into the Pepsi Center. Her mom had wanted her to carry it. Needless to say, they took it away from her before . I feel like you should get arrested for that. If only to save the good people of Colorado from being represented by such idiocy.)

They've also arrested a few folks in a suspected plot on Obama's life. I really hope no craziness like that goes down. Belligerent protestors. Crazy signs. Enthusiastic activists. But nobody getting hurt. Just something to distract all these stinking helicopters that keep grazing my apartment building every 10 minutes or so.

I sorta can't wait till all this goes away and they just give downtown its mailboxes back.

Better things I could have done with that 75 minutes

Being back in school again, I'm rediscovering how much I loved being in school in the first place. I mean, I knew I missed it, but that joy of the fascinating new things that now you know, and you didn't know before. I've learned what diatomaceous earth is. I've looked at chloroplasts crusing about. I've delved into the world of Nobel prize-winning quantum physics. (Yeah. That's right. I know what Bose-Einstein Condensate is, yo.) But I am also rediscovering other things, such as those classes where the instructor is, by all appearances, so worthless that you really wish you had those minutes of your life back.

So in memoriam for those 75 minutes of my life that were lost forever this evening, I thought I'd compile a short list of things that I could have been doing with that time, that would have been more productive than attending the class I attended today. In no particular order, here goes:

1. Watching "Mythbusters." Well, I don't know if that, in particular, was on during the time period in question. The point is, there was something-- probably many somethings-- on TV that would have been more educational than my prof's lecture this evening.

2. Eating some food.

3. Sleeping.

4. Watching swallows flit about one area of campus.

5. Watching the local news.

6. Reading my newest issue of National Geographic, which I would have (75 minutes earlier than I did) realized had arrived today.

7. Seeing the entirety of Jaws. Yup, I've never seen the whole thing. And now here I am again, watching just a portion, having begun an hour and a half into it. (And already, I learned that apparently there was a time when you could smoke inside of hospitals. See? Bad science as far as the shark is concerned-- WHICH I LEARNED WATCHING MYTH BUSTERS-- but educational, nonetheless.)

8. Talking to myself.

9. Watching the Olympics.

10. Drinking a margarita. In other words, there is very little that I can think of that is less educational-- or at least less productive-- than the 75 minutes I spent in that class today. Oy to the vey.

It's been a while...

...since political candidates' ads made me laugh out loud. By "it's been a while," I actually mean, of course, that I don't actually remember this occurring in the past. Normally they stick to the categories of "so cheesily patriotic as to be completely meaningless," "incoherent mud-slinging," or "vague claims of supporting universal values that no candidate would ever claim to be against."

But in recent months, I have discovered an entirely new category of campaign ad, the sort which makes me laugh out loud at it's utter ludicrousness... and it's absolute back-firing. I categorize these as the "gasp! look what the other candidate supports! ...oh, wait, $!#%, that's what you actually want?" ads. (Except that, in reality, that last part never occurs. I keep seeing these ads over and over, as apparently no one in these campaigns finds them as ridiculously humorous as I do.)

This category includes the ads that hold Barack Obama single-handedly responsible for high gas prices. But then, oops, they mention that it's because he-- HORRORS!-- doesn't support drilling for more oil. Huh. Score: campaign 0, Obama 1. Just in case anyone was holding out voting for him because they mistakenly thought he wanted to drill all over, thanks, dear campaign, for clearing this point up.

Actually, a lot of the ads in this new category fall under the "how dare they wish for alternative fuels!" umbrella. And it's by no means just on the presidential level, as many similar ads have popped up for more local candidates. I think one, aghast, even accused their opponent of the mortal sin of supporting wind energy. Or maybe I just made that one up.

If I stop laughing long enough, I have to think about the fact that these ads are on TV because they actual fool some people. There are people in this country who actually believe that the choice is either between off-shore drilling, or high gas prices (and that there actually even is a choice between those two, as if the former were even an option for combatting the latter).

But that would be too depressing. I hear enough ridiculous things on a daily basis, from people on the bus or the street or clients at work. Just horrifyingly ignorant things. (And I mean that literally: I really think these folks just don't know any better.)

So in the meantime, I will sit in my living room and chuckle to myself at the silly campaign writers. I will try to give Americans more credit for intelligence than the ad writers clearly do. I will try to have a little bit of faith in my fellow country-folk to not act quite so stupid as the ad writers think we all are, this time around. (Even I won't ignore the sad track record that American voters... or, eh, courts, anyway... have had over the past decade or so.) So I will be optimistic. And I will laugh at the things my TV is telling me. And I hope that most Americans are seeing through it all enough to laugh with me, too.