From the Belly

A kind woman with a fuzzy face outside the arena yesterday told me from her heart that to her the atmosphere was electric. I wasn't feeling it. Perhaps my polarity is a bit off. I thought the atmosphere, especially inside the place, was akin to a plumbers convention. Well, I take that back, judging from the plumbers I've known, the plumbers convention would probably have more ebullient atmosphere.

Day Two - Tactics

Day one was as successful as any group like ours could expect. We were a tonic for the troops, we were some sand in the gears of the other side, and we got some pretty good media coverage, including a live interview with all six of us on AM 950 Minneapolis, and a mention in the Star-Ledger. Now what? There's another protest march planned by the Poor Peoples' Economic Human Rights Campaign, which would have a different emphasis, but we're thinking it might be better to shift our focus to what we do best, which is making the other side look silly. Stay tuned.

How the Real Boys Do It

While were were sharing half-price hors d'oeuvres and sake in the neighborhood, here's what the real lobyists were up to last night:

Four More Years!

I feel like a kid who's just come back from the carnival. My mind is still spinning and images of insanity are dancing in my head.

In fact, I AM a kid who's just come back from the carnival. After thoroughly taunting the lefty demonstrators marching on St. Paul for approximately four hours, we regrouped and headed for the Minnesota State Fair, where we mixed it up among funnel cakes and corn dogs against whatever party loyalists we encountered in their secure booths. The Obama booth, the Franken Booth, the McCain booth (hopping mad, this guy was). We created little internet spots at the CNN booth and went live on the local Air America station.

What's especially entertaining is when folk react savagely. A guy in a Bob Marley T-shirt asked me for one of our cards. He then made a show of going over to the trash bin, ripping up the card, spitting on it and tossing it out. Some adamant supports of Obama stick around long enough to understand where we're coming from. Sometimes they fool us, too. Like Ryan, who played football on the high school team that Jesse Ventura coached. We had him tagged as a drunken McCain supporter. Chomping on a piece of some sort of meat on a stick, he playfully goaded us, playing the role we expected him to play until we finally got his game.

It's been nearly four years since I've done a full day of politicking and demonstrating. The adrenalin rush is a gas. But the ups and downs and all the discord just wear on you. I'm exhausted. Exhilarated, but exhausted.