This is how a blogger attends a convention

John Perry Barlow has a good plan for attending the Republican Convention. I hope some of the lanyard-wearing bloggers will be suit-donned and participating, or at least transmitting some real-time pics.

And may I recommend, at precicely the right moment, a little something from President (of Funk) Clinton to hasten the pant wetting?

More from JPB:

I don't want to confront the Republicans. I want to discombobulate them. I don't want to argue with them, which would only convince them further, I want to throw them off their game. I don't want to be aggressive in my discontent. God knows there's been plenty of that on all sides. I want to be genial. But disconcerting.

So, to that end, I propose the following: I want to organize a cadre of 20 to 50 of us. I want to dress us in suits and other plain pedestrian attire and salt us among the sidewalk multitudes in Republican-rich zones. At a predetermined moment, one of us will produce a boom-box and crank it up with something danceable. Suddenly, about a third of the people on the sidewalk, miscellaneously distributed in the general throng, will start dancing like crazy and continue to do so for for about a minute. Then we will stop, melt back into the pedestrian flow, and go to another location to erupt there.*

Now this is how bloggers cover conventions.

* Idea Stavros and Sessum certified organic.

$97.53!

I have now stopped smoking for 27 days, 1 minutes, 12 seconds. That translates into 459 cigarettes NOT smoked, for a savings of $97.53! I have increased my life expectancy by 1 days, 14 hours, 15 minutes, 4 seconds.

[[courtesy of sharemeter]]

A question Mr. President?

Fun little time waster. Once you ask all your questions or enter your favorite keywords, don't forget to try bin laden, michael moore, and laura bush...

Pope Blames Feminists for Gender Confusion

According to a leaked extract, the document accuses feminists of "blurring the biological difference between man and woman".

For instance, the Pope noted, Priests frequently mistake little boys' rectums for women's vaginas.

...developing...

Stavros' folks place is still for sale?

I'm telling you, this place is blogtopia. What are we waiting for? 200 bloggers at a grand a piece. We time share in bunches.

I have dibs on summer!

Oh, and don't forget to read Stavros' convention blogging.

Jimmy, Won't You Come Back?

I've gone on about Jimmy Carter here before. There is something about living in the south, a short drive in no traffic from the Carter Center, which is a peaceful place of historic writings and images, that puts Jimmy in context. And once Jimmy's in context, his true greatness -- his heart and his brilliance, in that order -- are overwhelming.

A man of incredible integrity, Jimmy is unlike any other Presient. I think everyone can agree on that. People overuse the word integrity these days. It's all the rage in self-help circles, a cherished prize for the self-actualized who have managed to get their needs met, in the passive voice of course. Active voice is simply too aggressive.

But I digress. When Jimmy uses the word integrity, he means integrity.

Kalilily has a link to Jimmy's speech from the convention, which is worth a read if you didn't hear it on TV or if you were in the Blogger's Box at the convention. ;-)

Elaine calls out this quote:

You can't be a war president one day and claim to be a peace president the
next, depending on the latest political polls. When our national security
requires military action, John Kerry has already proven in Vietnam that he will
not hesitate to act. And as a proven defender of our national security, John
Kerry will strengthen the global alliance against terrorism while avoiding
unnecessary wars.

Ultimately, the issue is whether America will provide global leadership
that springs from the unity and integrity of the American people or whether
extremist doctrines and the manipulation of truth will define America's role in
the world.

At stake is nothing less than our nation's soul.....

Thanks for pointing this out E.

A topic I know a thing or two about...

...you know, when I'm not dissociating.

Semantically Yours...

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the new number one google search result for the word "Credentialed".

surprised? not me.

The thing that bothers me most about the credentialing of bloggers for this past week's democratic convention is how the bloggers willingly participated in a PR mega-event that had been brainstormed about, strategized about, met endlessly about, project managed about, account managed about, and congratulated over by what has to be hundreds of PR flacks across multiple organizations who really don't give a rats ass whether bloggers covered the event or not.

This was a corporate event and credentials were bestowed like tickets for a ski-doo raffle, finalists made up of the lucky few who stuck business cards with the right combination of words on them (i.e., no troublemakers, left-leaning) in the bowl on the trade show floor. Ooooo--maybe I'll win.

Yah, if life, business, and government worked that way.

It doesn't. That's why we came here--remember?

I will state my personal position again: Anything that seeks to professionalize weblogging, I am against. It's power depends upon its non-professionalization. Stop letting them bully you into stepping and fetching it, guys. And yes, guys, I'm talking to you specifically, because you continue to bite every time.

I wish I lived closer to a convention. I would not be credentialed, but I would cover it, on the street, in the 'tweens, from a boulder on the grassy knoll. Covering politics is talking to people, not following the cued plan of PR pros. I'd go wherever they weren't--anywhere they weren't.

Here is a conversation I imagine has already taken place between public affairs PR flacks involved in the event, the Kerry launch at the DNC convention.

PR Flack 1 (PRf1): Credentialing bloggers--great idea wasn't it?

PR Flack 2 (PRf2): "Sure was. I don't know how the whole thing got started, but it was the best thing we coulda done to show how the 'voice of the people' counts... That 'be not afraid' of john q. public...' Embrace him even!

PRf1: Yeah, without letting them get close enough to cause any trouble!

PRf2: Hey, those guys don't leave their laptops for a second--It was easy to keep em penned up. Can you believe they didn't riot when we saw how far away they were? No way they could hear or see anything--making like it was their war room up there--haaaa!

PRf1: Did you see them typing the whole fucking time?

PRf2: No shit--what the hell were they writing about? Carol King--how many words can you write about her -- she sang for fifteen minutes.

PRf1: I saw this one blog guy get his credentials--his eyes were so big you think I he just got the Nobel Peace Prize.

PRf2: sheeeeeesh!

PRf1: I thought they'd be all over the balloon mishap--Jesus the stage manager that had Mischer that close to Blizer is so canned.

PRf2: The bloggers were all gone by then--there were like two of them up there. I guess they got the picture that the terrorists weren't coming--"Nothing to see here boys, go ahead home..."

PRf1: hhhhaaa! Yah, "The real journalists have it covered--why don't you all go buy some ink cartridges for your printers!"

PRf2: Now the Bush team is all about how to leverage the webloggers.

PRf1: Yeah, well, give 'em Bush Cheney signs and tell them to get drunk like everyone else.

PRf2: I think if you give 'em fancy lanyards they're yours for life.

PRf1: blahahaha!

(and on and on).

Are we worthy of the jeering? Naw. Doesn't matter really. But we are responsible for not letting ourselves be manipulated in the name of blogging. At least I think so.

So you credentialed few--cover the next convention somewhere where it's not expected, scripted even. And if you get detained or kicked out, tell us about it. There are plenty of folks who can talk about healthcare and not having insurance to take their kid to the hospital and who have had relatives killed in Iraq. There are plenty of folks who rely on those tax cuts to power their corporations, who demand we close our borders and torture prisoners of war to get the answers we need.

Start a conversation with one of them.

And you don't even need a fancy lanyard to do it.

The Spiridellis Brothers--Two Guys and a Computer

Just read a good article on the Spiridellis Brothers, better known to us as JibJab, the creators of the now legendary and hysterical This Land Is Your Land lampoon. It's great to see a couple of guys who know what to do with the net get mainstream recognition from a really good piece of work. Hysterical even. Hopefully they can use the noise to drum up sales for their new book, Are You Grumpy, Santa?, which looks awfully cute.

In the meantime, the brothers are under fire from the publisher who holds the rights to Guthrie's song. At the heat of the debate is whether the use of the song qualifies as infringing satire or protected parody.

If you really want to dig into the conflict, Corante has a thorough rundown of what's gone down.

Kinda takes the fun out of two guys and a computer.

Doh!

We all need a few more balloons...
by Don Mischer
DNC Convention Director
 
No confetti, no confetti
yet.
Go balloons. Go balloons.
More Balloons. All balloons.
All balloons.
 
Come on guys,
Let's move it
Jesus.
 
We need more balloons.
I want all balloons
to go, goddamn!
No confetti. No confetti.
No confetti.
 
I want more balloons.
What's happening to the balloons?
We need more balloons.
 
We need all of them coming down!
Balloons. Balloons.
Balloons.
 
What's happening!
They're not coming down.
 
All balloons.
Where the hell
Nothing is falling. 
What the fuck
are you guys doing
up there?
 
We want more
balloons coming down.

More balloons.
More balloons.

PTSD - 1: Lullaby

rock-a-bye baby
down by the lake,
when the wind blows
your world starts to shake,
when the storm hits
your world starts to break,
and crap starts flying around smashing into you and busting your head wide open until you bleed into the streets and passersby look down wondering what the hell is wrong with you and kick you and tell you to get up and be productive you useless sack of shit,
'til it's all you can take.

PTSD - 2: Grandpa

They wept more for you
I never understood
because you were murdered
and he was supposed to die.

Just three weeks apart
my daddy, my grandpa
gone
who loved me more
no matter
dead.

I watched them weep for
you grandpa
wondering why
I didn't see them cry that
hard for my father
your death a tragedy
his a relief

your death
and his
are alive for me
still
in the corners of the
kitchen where I opened
the door to tears and moans,
on the far wall of my bedroom
where I watched shadows
at night instead of understanding
that nothing was the same,
on the school bus where looks
of pity wrapped me in kind blankets
that I grew used to wearing.

That is where I keep you.

 

PTSD - 3: Intermission

Wind washes me
dirty dirty
grandma said
you put panties on
when you sleep
or I'll tell your
mother

Rain washes me
dirty dirty
grandma said
those dolls have
no clothes and
look
you drew on
their dirty
parts now
I have to
tell your
mother

Fire washes me
dirty dirty
grandma said
look at that
drawing
I can see
that girl's chest
rip it up now
or I'll show
your mother.

Earth wash me clean
of their shame
show me where
to bury it.

PTSD - 4: Move

His hooves make prints
paint the ground in u-shaped echoes,
the hard autumn runway
where waves lap sand.

We gallop through foam,
icy lake water
splashes my bare calves
rubbed hairless on
the insides
from holding on
tight,
his belly wide and strong,

Remembering ends
the day they took him away.

But not my skin,
every inch of flesh
a memory of touch--
thighs, calves
heels, hands--
of movement
of silent conversation.

Of losing him.

PTSD - 5: Birth

I open like wings
from me flies
new life,
she.

I warm her skin
against my chest
she me,
we.

I terrify them then
blood everywhere
eyes close,
dark.

I open again for them
they save me
I know,
agony.

 

PTSD - 6: Dance

To know your face
so well
to trace the lines above
your eyes
to have found all
the secret flaws
to love you
still

To be destroyed,
ripped by words that
shred like shards,
blood drips milk
deceit and despair mingle,
currents of
spoiled innocence
rearrange
real and pretend.

How do I parse
disbelief,
real or
imagined? 
when
what was so
never was.

To love again.

7 more posts until my 2,000th here.

I shall endeavor to ring in the new millennium with a spree of on-the-spot poetry.

Please enjoy.

Or Else.

Oh No, No, NO!

They've killed him! They've killed him!

 

My B Key Makes Prime Time

Thanks to Mike for posting my story on my Hiptop/Sidekick and the faulty key of B over on the Hipshake site.

yabadabedope!

Edwards (Mrs.) for America

I've been saying for months that I really like John Edwards' wife, Elizabeth. Just read another article about her--I didn't know they'd lost a 16-year-old son or that they have a 22 year old and a 4 year old. I didn't know she was a devastatingly good lawyer, had a baby when she was 50, or looked like a real person, sans botox.

"Elizabeth Edwards' intellect was termed 'a weapon of mass destruction' by a former courtroom rival."

I love complexity. This pair's complex.

Can we elect her?