FreeNotFurry's Xanga

Confessional

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 09:00:40 GMT

Forgive me Xanga, for I have strayed. It has been 6 months and one day since my last entry, and this one is likely to be the last.

I drop in once in a while because there have been some wonderful friends, wonderful memories, and I hope that they will find me as I move on. I'm all over the Internet as FreeNotFurry, or if you know my real name I'm on Facebook. Eventually, I will have a new site up at http://quixtic.com but for now it's just hosting a side business.

I wish I could say that all of the relationships and other dramas have sorted themselves out, but... well, let's just say being up this late isn't as normal as it once was. I have found my direction. An ambitious book on race and class, my truest calling, and one I can only hope to do justice.

I will continue to archive the entries here, for posterity or possible publication after I'm a famous novelist, so the site isn't going down quite yet. For other news on my writing projects, check out http://jslorentz.livejournal.com, though I haven't posted there in months either.

Thanks to Xanga and all the Xangans who left before us. I wouldn't be anyone if it hadn't been for you.

Life Is Like a Box of Bulletpoints

Tue, 02 Sep 2008 18:54:58 GMT

My body declared war on me earlier this year. I've had a lot of minor but annoying issues that aren't even consistent from one week to another. Most afflict my GI system or neck and back and only respond moderately to medicine and other remedies, then go away or at least get better after a week or so.
After attending the Democratic State Convention in support of Obama, I spent a month or so away from politics. Just as I started to get involved again, a job fell in my lap, so I now work four afternoons a week (plus occasionally online) for the campaign of a local candidate.
Rather than quickly getting sick of politics, I find that I'm loving it even more. But what I love isn't so much the machinations behind the scenes and the poll-watching strategy. I like the conversations.
My long distance relationship has been dealt the Death card. As any tarot novice can tell you, Death doesn't have to mean finality, but continuing on requires a pretty radical transition. We won't know which will be the case until this weekend, in, of all places, Amarillo.
Kare's new apartment is spectacular. And I can't wait to try out the new bed. It's waist-high and very soft, so interpret that any way you like. :)
I'm beginning to leverage clients for a side business. I'm trying to work up a business plan that stretches from simple web design to tax preparation but that will still allow me some time to write. I've been full of ideas all summer, but almost no follow-through.
I am craving a social life. Not dating or sex (well, not often), but time spent sitting down and talking with cool people. All of my friends are spread far and wide, and I keep wanting to throw a party, but I have no idea when or how I could pull one off, especially since my free time will become more and more rare as we approach the election.

Music Software--recommendations?

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 19:35:18 GMT

OK, so there are about a million and a half of these, and I'm wondering what people are using? I've been attached to Musicmatch Jukebox since I first started ripping to MP3 in college, but they re-branded by Yahoo last year and have finally started sabotaging the older versions of users who refused to "upgrade".

OK, so what I'm looking for: I use mp3s, not wmas, and I prefer a program with excellent tagging/cataloging/sorting. Most of my collection comes from my ever-expanding personal collection of CDs, so CD look-up is a must. I already have over 6500 well-tagged mp3s, so it would be especially nice if I could import the existing ID3v2 tags. I have speculated that it would be nice if you could tag CDs the way you tag blog entries, i.e., without specifying which tag is "artist" and which is "genre", just letting them speak for themselves--but I don't know if such a thing exists. I was also rather fond of the file-monitoring, which would automatically track mp3s in my library if I moved them while the program was open.

One feature I would like that I didn't have is the ability to edit mp3s, trimming dialogue or splitting or merging tracks. But I have another program that can do it.

What I don't need:
I hate advertizing and pushy sales (hence my beef with Yahoo). I hate WMAs on principle if nothing else. I hate slow programs (iTunes, I'm looking at you). I hate inept automatic tagging, but if I can make changes it's still better than having little or no tagging at all (iTunes again). I hate programs that try to do and be everything and suffer core quality as a result (Anyone remember Realplayer? Damn, that was a fine video program back in the day).

For reasons stated above, I'm ruling out Windows Media Player (or whatever the hell its called now), iTunes, RealPlayer, and Yahoo. I own a program by Magix (I use their mp3 editing), but I don't know if it's any good.

I'm willing to buy good software if it will save me some of these headaches, but I don't know what to get. I'd also be interested if there are decent opensource programs out there. Any recommendations would be greatly appreciated!

Flashback

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 08:24:24 GMT

I was up late archiving some entries from my previous blog and thought I should come on and say how wonderful my life is and wax poetic about how different it has become.

When I started blogging, I didn't know where I wanted to be, what I wanted to be doing, or whom I wanted to be with. I began the practice as a place to vent and an incubator for that budding personality that was still too weak to make a full entrance. I can proudly say that that person has emerged and thrived and that he is, more than ever, the Luckiest Bastard on Earth.

But being yourself isn't about yourself--truth requires at least a corroborating witness. Since I was glancing at stuff from 2005-6, let me throw out some random updates that may not have been addressed in the interim:

Since my grandmother passed away, I have continued to live with my grandfather, who has never lived alone in his life. He is more or less totally independent, despite his age, so I am more here for company. It works for me because I can take on fun and odd jobs for short stints without having to lock into a "career" per se.

My first love, of course, is my writing, and thanks in large part to my partnership with Kare, I have written more on my own in the last two years than in the previous 26.

My family all lives in the area, though I don't see them as much as I'd like. My mom is dating a friendly rascal many years her senior, my brother is paying his first mortgage and wanting to change jobs. My niece and nephew are a lot of fun and it's nice to think I can claim some small part in their growing up.

Re-reading items from 2006 reminded me how eager my best friend and I were to live in the same area code again, but I feel more strongly than ever that we have not made the most of it. He is happily married to a wonderful woman who is his perfect foil, and I was proud to serve as his best man (less so for my nervous, blubbering toast at the reception). Last year he trained for eight months and joined a nearby police force, but his last training shift has been put on hold while he recovers from a motorcycle accident. He's supposed to be off tomorrow, think I'll try to drop in. I also believe I owe him a road trip or two.

I am beloved and my mind, heart, and soul are constantly stimulated by the two women in my life. Polyamory has stabilized for us for now, and I am finding myself more humbled, more creative, and more supported than ever before. As we have finally stepped more away from set roles and categories for these relationships, they are naturally progressing in their own directions, and it is a great comfort to let that happen without wondering what part jealousy may play in any small decision. Just in recent weeks, this comfort level has even allowed for terrific conversations on kink, power, and gender, and I think there is wonderful room for learning ahead of us.

I travel more than ever, thanks in part to my one strong root in New Mexico, Fox. And I love the open road.

I have been able to engage politics on the levels that I love--talking one-on-one with people who believe and people who question and helping my comrades organize for a larger movement. As much as I hate politics, it's just hard not to throw myself into it when you can meet so many great people.

I miss my Denton crew, but I do have a social circle and they are a blast. I hope to one day gather them all in one place, but I have no idea where that place would be. In the meantime, though I am still sad that Fezz, Mo, and Cake are far far apart from one another (and none particularly close to me), I will always treasure that trio's role in introducing me to my first poly community and welcoming me to someplace that both was and was not home to me at the time. Though I am still sad for how much has changed, there are many individuals and groups who have stepped in and broadened my community: new and old faces from Denton, Starbucks employees and groupies, the DFW theatre scene, Dallas accountants who swim, older versions of the people I knew and loved in high school, and countless friendly folks online who have, might, and will become so much more.

I have come so far. Thank you to everyone who has taken any one of those steps with me. And for the dozenth time, I apologize if I don't post as much... I've taken that time I used to spend dreaming about life and started actually living it. :*

Hiding Out and Hitting the Road

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 18:38:01 GMT

I've traveled over 6,000 miles since the 20th of May and have another 1200 to go this weekend. I love chaos and busy-ness in my life, but this is getting to be too much.

I challenged myself to go to Seattle without my laptop, with the result of feeling a bit more detached from it but still wasting too much time and still not writing like I should be.

Between travels, there have been several disappointments and surprises...

I had to give up soda and later go on a special diet to sort out some GI issues. The diet has been a hassle because I was expected to run around Austin for 12 hours a day running on peaches and Jello; I think I'm still feeling the sugar buzz. He also wanted me off dairy, just in case, which has seriously compromised most of my diet and raised the cost of my chais 40-50 cents. We still don't know the cause, but I am feeling a bit better. I had half a 7-Up last night and felt okay, so soda may make a graceful return. My next appointment is Monday.

I still haven't heard from the woman in charge of the New Orleans gig. I don't feel that she likes me (or at least not my resume, since that's all she knows at this point), but I'm missing a lot of context (such as what she is like as a person, how good is her relationship with her daughter, who referred me, and why the program funding hasn't come through yet).

The haunted house where I have worked the last two years is officially closed. Not only am I out a fall job/creative outlet, I'm also out a lot of time spent planning and am left with a bunch of junk I'd been hoarding. Good thing that roof guy didn't bring those palettes after all...

I got a bill in the mail this morning from a hospital expense incurred and paid two years ago. I am also having issues with a credit card company charging interest I don't understand but have put off calling.

I got a book I'd forgotten I'd lent to--I don't know, an ex-friend?, ex-lover?--on my windshield wiper this morning. I've missed the friendship a lot more than the book.

I've taken a break from following politics closely since the convention in Austin, but Obama's decision to refuse public financing has upset me and I haven't yet made time to look into it and think about it further.

Two out of the three people (well, technically, three out of four, but two were together) I wanted to visit in and around Seattle didn't come through. And I don't just mean we couldn't meet up, I mean they failed to notify me as our preliminary plans became undoable, and for days, I heard nothing, no "yea" or "nay". Luckily, there were contingency plans, but even my girlfriend and co-traveler admits that four days with her nieces may have been too much.

I've still never been to Canada.

I realized that I spent more money and thought on souvenirs for my girlfriend's kids than my own niece and nephew, but that it made sense because I see more of them and know them better.

The travels have taxed both of my relationships in unusual ways. I'm positively blissful when I am alone with one or the other, but the time between is often spent in terror of offending or slighting someone... We are each usually wishing there were more hours in a day and fewer miles in our way, but my faraway girlfriend has gotten used to seeing a lot of me so saying goodbye gets even harder and ever-higher levels of communication seem obligatory, my local girlfriend misses our usual time together and probably wants more but is scared to ask for it and frets over it all, and I am terrified that I will some day have to walk away from both rather than choose one because I love so intensely and I am so poor at balancing the hours in the day. I keep trying to bring this all up, to ask them or warn them and talk about how things might improve, but to little avail. I feel like I'm not saying it right. Although I'm pretty sure blurting it on a blog is not the best way to do it, right now it's the only one I can think of.

Oh, I suppose I should probably be making time for myself in there, too... somewhere. You know, meditate, read tarot, something...

A budding more-than-friendship ended abruptly before it had truly began. Is it possible to be 100% in agreement and respect of her reasons but still miss the opportunity? It was a nice prospect to have a cuddle friend who lived nearby, but I've been busy and shy about reaching out since.

I've been entrusted with some of Kare's old computer files, which need to be sorted and certain things extracted. They also came with a lovely bouquet of old adware that McAfee is still hunting down.

My high school reunion is this weekend. I'm not going. I was active and enthusiastic in the early stages of planning, but a few aggravations with my fellow committee members led to weaker communication led to me being left out of decisions and other processes led to me getting distracted with other things led to those distractions becoming more important to me led to me not really wanting to go. There are other convenient excuses, too, about timing and who will or won't be there that I actually want to see, but it's still a little bittersweet.

I want to talk to my best friend about more of what's going on in my life, but I think I am putting up a wall. I keep fearing that as my life gets ever-crazier and he moves on with his traditional marriage and religious values, he will gradually move awaw from love and respect toward mere tolerance, if he hasn't already. He has assured me before that this will not happen, but the less we talk, the more I feel it, and the more I fear talking to him.

I spent way too much money on these trips, about three times my usual monthly expenses, and will be unlikely to have new income secured before that next credit card bill hits. I have made it all year without asking my grandfather for money; I'd really prefer to continue that trend.

My favorite annual issue of my favorite magazine is out now, but my subscription ran out six months ago and I can't really afford to renew it right now... no, it's not sold in (many) stores.

I'm far behind in reading other people's blogs, but so far my efforts at catching up on them haven't been very satisfying. I'm also watching a lot of TV... I really am in the mood to zone, aren't I?

Wow, that's a lot of whining. Surely there's something uplifting to write about... a couple days ago, I finally explored a bike-ridable path from my neighborhood to the nearest shopping center. It's pretty, hilly but not intensely so, low traffic... I may have finally found an area to ride around here, and should help a little with exercise and gas prices.

Tomorrow night, I will be in Tennessee, snarfing away on the Best Ribs Ever. Then Sunday, we're going back for more, and hoping to bring a few back to share.

I bought a couple of records from an antique store in Pt. Townsend, including one of Duke Ellington's finest performance, the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival. I don't even have a record player, but they were too lovely to pass up.

I've been singing Les Miserables and Aerosmith the last day or two and loving the hell out of both.

I have some great ideas for small writing projects that might bring in a tiny bit of cash, then I'm looking forward to entering the editing stage of the novel I finished in April.

I am loved, in so many wonderful and fulfilling ways. I know that whatever comes next will not change that fact.

Wow, writing that last line (and taking a deep breath) helped. A lot. :)

I Did It...

Tue, 06 May 2008 06:42:17 GMT

[This is the reason I haven't posted anything personal since the political stuff... there's actually a lot I want to talk about, but it's taken a back-seat to bigger things!]

I finished a novel. For all the words I've put down, I've never before completed a draft of this length. It's about 108,000 words/200+ pages.

Thanks to everyone who provided the absolute most distracting environment ever over the day or two since I began the final chapter. This list includes (but is not limited to): The IRS, Allstate, Maytag, my illustrious brother, my best friend, both girlfriends, my grandfather, MusicMatch, the Dallas Stars and San Jose Sharks, two girlfriends from middle school, and Dr Pepper. The onslaught of distractions only made me more determined to sit down and finish. I spent 9 or ten hours writing since I awoke and did little else along the way. I needed to see it through and with all of that trying to pull me out of the zone, I didn't have to find my own diversions.

But seriously, thanks to everyone for their support. You have no idea how much this means to me.

Epilogue and Errata: Build Me Up, Buttercup

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 20:26:22 GMT

In 2005, I lived in Washington, D.C., just a few blocks from the White House. So as if many liberals, Democrats, and Independents weren't already hanging their heads across the nation the week of W's second inauguration, I and my colleagues had to witness it up close. A week's worth of elaborate (and presumably expensive) balls and banquets were thrown by conservative interest groups, and their opulence was almost legendary because few liberals knew anyone who had actually seen one from the inside. Congress was not in session, but there were more limousines than ever cruising the streets and you could even spot tuxedos on the street. Slowly pulling their collective head from their collective ass (ha!), a few liberal interest groups fought back by sponsoring counter-inaugural events (shadow balls, demostrations, and what not), to start rebuilding their coffers for mid-term elections in 2006. One of these events was open to the public for a fairly reasonable price (I want to say $50, and yes, that's positively cheap for a big-name political event in DC), and their fliers were all over downtown. I knew a few people going and was open to it myself until I read the splash at the bottom: "No cowboy hats or boots!"

Now, I would not have worn cowboy attire to this event (I didn't and still don't own any), but I was offended. That whole Texas thing again. Whether I identify with it personally or not, Texas has a strong cowboy history and the event was designed to protest a former Texas governor, but the flier bugged me. W was born in Connecticut, raised by an oil millionaire, and didn't even own a ranch until the year before he ran for governor. His "cowboy diplomacy" has had about as much to do with long, cold nights on the Chisolm Trail as orange soda has to do with oranges. But even if W was a real cowboy, was that an excuse to reject anything and everything gaucho? Would they ban the word "ya'll" too? Yellow roses and starry nights? Acoustic guitars? Fajitas?

Jim Wright, Ann Richards, Molly Ivins, and Jim Hightower?

I hadn't wanted to own a cowboy hat and a pair of cowboy boots that badly since I was four, when my favorite TV show was The Dukes of Hazzard and my favorite song was "Take This Job and Shove It".

I.
I left out an important detail in Entry II. When we went to sign in, the wünder-delegate was not shown as a delegate on the sign-in sheet. While the rest of us trickled back to our seating area, she, the coordinator, and our precinct captain had to go up to the office and prove that she was a delegate. Fortunately, our captain had saved his original copies of our caucus sign-in sheets. He showed us the difference: the copy had a blank space where the original clearly said, "Delegate". No one said it allowed, but if the captain had faxed or photocopied the original, and the copy was clean (which it was), then the only reasonable conjecture was that someone had whited out the space. No one else in our precinct seemed to be affected, and after their visit to the office, the wünder-delegate was confirmed and allowed to sign in.

II.
I went back and reviewed some old emails about the convention. There was an alternate for Obama in our precinct named Johnny, but I don't know if it was the fellow I saw. Otherwise, not one alternate showed up for Obama from my precinct.

III.
If Saturday had been an exercise in the spirit of conviction being beaten down, Sunday was about healing rejuvenation through corporate tourism. I spent the day with a group of close friends, their siblings, and their children at Six Flags. I hadn't spent a full day there in a decade, and it was exactly what I needed. It helped that my friends were buying an army's worth of season passes, so the rest of us got free passes and a share of the discounts. The 15 or 16 of us broke off into various groups, but my main group of two adults and two kids spent less than $40 all day. It also helped that the friends' extended family was just as easy to get along with as their irreverent matriarch, whom I've known since I was 12. I even volunteered to take her 8- and 6-year old daughters on the Judge Roy Scream, and we had a blast. It was terrific fun, and I found it difficult to focus on my corporate cynicism (except when video screens displayed their new yellow-minstrel mascot... damn, what will Margaret Cho say?). I got to just laugh and scream and enjoy the day.

IV.
When I returned home Sunday night, I found an email from our precinct captain. He and his partner endured the entire convention, which had ended at 4am, eight hours after the last of us left. He said there was a good chance that all of our precinct's nominees for at-large delegates would be invited to Austin (some as alternates), but that he couldn't be absolutely certain about the Obama delegates. The nomination committee members for Obama had not shared their final decisions with him because he was a Clinton backer. 5 Clinton supporters from our precinct were selected as full delegates (including the captain's partner, who had already been elected as our caucus alternate). He also said that 60 at-large delegates and 20+ alternates from our district would attend state for Clinton, with 29 delegates and 60+ alternates for Obama. It sounded terribly skewed, but his later explanation was that since so many Obama supporters were voted in as caucus delegates, the at-large delegation had to compensate. I won't pretend to understand, since I thought they were supposed to be entirely independent processes.

V.
Monday I took back the bandanas. We never needed them and the coordinator never asked about them.

VI.
Also on Monday, the County Chair (different from the Convention Chair--I think the County Chair was the guy in the canary-yellow suit, but I could be wrong) sent everyone who had attended the convention a glowing email, full of cliché Democratic humor and statistical excuses as to why the convention was conducted so poorly. Lists were late or incomplete, software was full of errors, blah someone else's fault blah not deliberate blah. The incoming County Chair, who has already been elected but doesn't take office until after the state convention, is expected to form a committee to identify weaknesses and make recommendations for improvement. The current chair went on in his email to proudly saluted the volunteers and chairs of each convention, ask us all to make donations, and assure us that our conventions went swimmingly and "that democracy prevailed."

VII.
On Tuesday, April 8, Texas held runoff elections for state nominations with no majority winner in the original March primary. The big Democratic contest (and only vote on my precinct's Democratic ballot) was for Railroad Commissioner, which has nothing to do with railroads and everything to do with energy and extraction of natural resources. I had received a few emails about it from candidates and the Democratic party, but there was little media coverage. I saw my precinct captain outside the polls, but he was on the phone, so we didn't really get to talk.

As of noon, the same school/polling center that had hosted 150 Democrats at the caucus and that number many times over for the primary had seen fewer than a five Democrats and only ten Republicans. It would seem this year's strong draw for presidential politics has not bled into local politics, despite such races being more accessible to voters and often setting the political snowballs down the hill to Washington.

My candidate lost, but there's no time to mourn. There's a city election in May (and I'm already getting calls from one candidate looking for volunteers).

VIII.
My Houston friend has since admitted that things were not as smooth at her convention as she had led on--she had been forced to watch her words because a paranoid delegate kept snooping over her shoulder. I'm still waiting for her epic 6-part blog on the subject. :P

IX.
Here are a few local articles covering the convention I attended:
Delays frustrate delegates
Obama victor in weekend caucuses
Opinions on the conventions
A huge mess

IX.
The Wednesday after the SD10 convention, I received a call from the Texas Democratic party. I would be an alternate at the Texas Democratic Convention in June.

X.
I obtained a preliminary list of delegates and alternates from my district and found several familiar names and faces. My former bookstore manager was on there, as were at least three former classmates I haven't seen since 1997 or before (including my third grade best friend). They're all Obama alternates, and I hope I get to see them before Austin.

One name that was conspicuously absent was that of the wünder-delegate. I don't know if it was because her credentials had been missing off that official sheet or because there were already plenty of non-white young women supporting Obama, or if it was just a twist of political fate. It upset me all over again at our coordinator's polite insistence on being the delegate from our precinct, because I several times wanted to nominate the wünder-delegate instead. Of course, the coordinator is upset with the captain for telling everyone the young lady would be a shoe-in, but I haven't seen any response from him.

For her part, the wünder-delegate is being gracious about the whole thing. She hasn't publicly complained about the outcome in the least and is considering attending as a spectator. Far from being turned off by the whole mess, she was the first to respond when I emailed the young people of my district about gathering for coffee (though we haven't made it happen yet).

And Monday, I received a glowing email from the chair of our convention congratulating and thanking the Obama alternates for taking part. Then, in the very next line (you could imagine her reading it into a microphone without taking a breath), she informed us that our entire Alternate list was being challenged, to be resolved at the state convention.

See you in Austin.

Saturday, Part IV: Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Caucus Here

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 04:35:58 GMT

Our credentials arrived and we each got yellow cards of our own. They were like cheap Golden Tickets, but the size of a Do Not Disturb door tag; they were only personalized by our signatures and handwritten precinct numbers. We could still not vote because we lacked a roll. My Houston friend was already done. I texted a couple of people to ask if there had been any reports of trouble at conventions, but there didn't seem to be any.

Our convention was officially called to order (I somehow missed that moment) and the Credentials Committee was introduced. A group of new white people came to the podium and introduced the process. Apparently quite a few precincts had allotted an incorrect number of delegates, presumably through errors in the Texas Dems' (I kid you not) "E-Z Math" caucus formula. The Credentials Committee had investigated each case and was ready to present their findings to the convention for a vote. Precincts with successful challenges against them would have to de-select delegates. When asked, the chair assured us again that accepting all findings with one vote "would not be appropriate." I believe this was also the time when the Clinton and Obama campaigns could challenge individual delegates (based on residency and ID, I think--there had to be a specific reason), but I did not hear any such reports.

After several precincts had their allotment readjusted for bad easy math, one was announced whose challenge was incorrect and received changes. We had to vote on it, too. I wanted to go to the microphone and request that we at least give blanket approval to all precincts whose challenges were denied, but our coordinator pulled me aside first. She herded us downstairs for a final discussion on our vote. I grabbed my Golden Ticket and nudged John to follow. Our delegation huddled in close, silently ignoring John, who couldn't have done any harm even if he was in the wrong place. He stood near, looking around like he was lost, before meandering away. I didn't see much of him after that. Again, I said nothing.

Contrary to our original understanding, our entire precinct would select one caucus delegate and one alternate with the same vote, so whoever got the most votes would be the delegate and whoever got the second most would be the alternate. We were down to eight Obama delegates (Jay was still there, but anxious about work and eager to leave; John was not counted), so we had to vote in unison. Our coordinator volunteered again (she usually did so with a sacrificial tone, as if she was taking the milk and apples for our sake... but to her credit, she also emphasized that she could afford the time and expense of attending both the state and national conventions) and no one opposed her.

She also clarified the confusing at-large delegate positions. As you may have heard, Texas Democrats operate both a primary and a caucus, with the expressed goal of getting more voters involved in the local party workings. Our election of delegates was the next step of the caucus, but the convention also had to select "at-large" delegates to represent the primary vote. While caucus delegates were elected, our district's at-large delegates were chosen by a committee with seven Clinton members and seven Obama members (though our captain indicated that Obama supports could have leveraged at least another seat if they'd fought for it). The at-large delegation had to match the demographic proportions of voter turnout, so non-whites, men, and people under 35 were usually in high demand. Our precinct captain was on the nominations committee and was eager to push people from our precinct to state as at-large delegates. Our original choice for caucus alternate, the wünder-delegate, would be a shoe-in for at-large, and Jay and I were encouraged to try as well.

Almost as soon as we sat back down, Jay started to gather his stuff. He could not hold out any longer. Fortunately, our captain arrived with our roll and we quickly got voting out of the way. The Obama delegates nominated the woman who had been coordinating our efforts, and the Clinton delegates nominated the captain's partner. With the expected 8-7 vote, we sent both to state. The wünder-delegate, Jay, and I also submitted our names for at-large positions. Jay departed soon after, about six hours after he had first started to worry about his job but just in time to catch the most important part of his workday. Our precinct captain collected most of our yellow tickets, but the coordinator and those sitting beside her held onto them tight. The captain assured us that we would not need them, and that they would have to be turned in before we left.

After the Credentials Committee (we had missed the rest of their items during our huddle), the temporary chair announced the election of a permanent chair. The thinning crowd was suddenly attentive. A few people approached microphones with out-of-order complaints and comments, but eventually three people were nominated: the white woman who had been temporary chair all day, a young white man in a suit who sat near the podium, and a black woman from a delegation. The temporary chair recused herself and a tall, intense man in a yellow suit took the gavel and microphone. Our precinct captain muttered comments implying the man was the head honcho who had overruled the rented tent and efficient check-in. Someone at a microphone moved to hear two-minute statements from the nominees, but the crowd voted overwhelmingly to skip statements.

We voted by raising our yellow tickets (which I and most of my group had handed to the captain; I just used my big, pasty white hand, which was surprisingly similar). I voted for the black woman. I had reasoned that the temporary chair had proven herself incapable of tempering the crowd, that the white man seemed almost as close to those in power as the temporary chair, and that whether she was a protest nominee or an earnest contender, the black woman would likely bring a necessary perspective shift--she would surely vindicate either the black delegates who felt marginalized or the mostly(all?)-white leadership who knew the existing system better. If it sounds very superficial, that's because it was. We could barely hear the delegates' names or see them stand to accept the nomination. We didn't know anything about them.

Let me preface the results by saying that the arena was wide and the boxed closets in the middle of the arena could have made it hard to see from one far end to the other... but from where I sat, the person to receive the fewest votes won the position. As I saw it, the white man and the black woman had gotten about equal support, with the temporary chair receiving considerably less than either. The canary with the gavel called for a runoff between the two women. Just before we were to re-vote, however, the black woman took the microphone. She thanked everyone for the support, but admitted that she was not as well versed in the rules as the temporary chair and that she felt the district would be better served if she took herself out of consideration. Rather than suggesting another vote between the white man and the temporary chair, the man with the gavel declared the temporary chair to be the new permanent chair and handed her back the gavel.

The newly re-appointed chair moved down the agenda to the resolutions, some of which still needed to be read. She was interrupted immediately by someone who did not believe the chair vote and asked if there was another way, perhaps using paper ballots. The tall guy in the yellow suit approached the microphone and declared it impractical. Someone at another microphone made a motion to vote again. It was seconded, but voted down with the most resounding, "Nay!" of the convention. People may have been upset or confused, but mostly they wanted to get on with business. My cohorts on the row below (the coordinator, the wünder-delegate, and a couple of the older Obama delegates who remained) had already been shaking their heads at contentious commentary and misuse of the microphone, but I didn't joined them until the next person also protested the chair vote. I wanted a revote, too, but if the convention was clearly in favor of moving on, that was what mattered.

More comments came from the microphone, even as the chair tried to continue reading resolutions. She had proven that she would respond to "point of order" and "point of clarification", so people started to interrupt her with random points, even adding "point of disagreement" or "point of ideology" or some other nonsense. There was a bustle behind me and the Clinton delegates from our precinct arose in near-unison. The young physicist confirmed for me that they were all leaving. I told her I was hoping to gather the under-30 delegates sometime soon and wished her well.

The chair acknowledged more complainers after the resolutions had been read (there were fifty-five). Someone approached the microphone with what sounded like a tirade, but ended in good humor (I wish I could remember what she said, but I was barely there myself by this point). Many people laughed and the chair thanked her for the levity. The mood got a little lighter after that. I was texting friends about all the hot Democrat girls.

At 7:30, I realized that I was pretty much spent. The pace was picking up, but the mood was hardly calm. "More like fatigue and determination," I told the Houston friend. We had not yet voted on the resolutions, the nominations committee had yet to meet or select at-large delegates (which would probably have to be voted upon by the entire convention). But with my list of over fifty y's and n's, I wanted to hold out as long as possible.

Fifteen minutes later, the coordinator and other Obama delegates stood up in front of me (I was still sitting in the middle row, separated so I could concentrate on my note-taking and then just obliviously staying in place). They were giving up, and since there was no way I was enduring this alone, I gave up, too. We gathered our stuff and gathered downstairs for goodbyes. The wünder-delegate and I were parked in the same direction, so I walked her to her car and told her about the youth get-together idea. I ambled back to my car, looking around in the dusk for men carrying rifles and shotguns.

I stopped for my favorite burrito on the way home, finally took a shower, and settled in for a quiet night of loved ones and Torchwood. Contrary to my night-owl custom, I was in bed by 12:30.

Saturday, Part III: We Beg Your Resolution of this Elegant Thimble

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 09:12:37 GMT

I think it was as I returned from getting lunch that I met John, an older black man who just appeared in our group during one of my field trips (he may have been my original reason for sitting up a row to eat my hot dog). He was quiet but friendly, and seemed eager for someone to talk to him. No one else seemed to be doing this, so I introduced myself and we exchanged a bit of small talk. I asked if he was a delegate and from our precinct, and he replied yes to both. I didn't say anything about our coordinator's belief that all of the delegates had been there for hours, but I thought I had heard about a John somewhere in the emails. I then asked John if he had signed in yet, and he said that he had. He did not have one of our Obama shirts, and our coordinator was out, so I gave him mine (and re-donned the blue Spankers shirt I'd worn on the way over).

I soon ran out of small talk and heard the UTA student mention physics (as detailed in my previous entry), but I would try to keep John included throughout the day; if anyone else from my delegation did, I did not see it. I didn't (and still dont') know if John was in the wrong spot, a confused alternate, or had just been overlooked by those who were supposed to know better, but I couldn't see any of these possibilities as a reason to be rude. No one else seemed to notice him, like he wasn't even there. Our coordinator looked directly at him a few times, but then she would pointedly look away. It was the kind of observation that often makes me skeptical of Democrats in general, but I didn't exactly step outside of my comfort zone, either.

People were speaking up front, and occasionally a batch of precinct numbers was called to sign in. By three in the afternoon, the novelties of having signed in and found a hot dog had worn off, and I was thinking of Lewis Carroll. Someone had planted the reference in my head a month ago and it came back strong in the sluggish afternoon.

Finally, the chairperson of the convention recommended that we bring everyone's focus back to the full agenda by reading through the pending resolutions. During the original March 4 caucus, every precinct had voted on items to include in the state or national Democratic platform. Precincts had voted them into this convention, and those to pass here would be voted upon in Austin. A resolution committee had vetted them, combined similar resolutions, and categorized them for the rest of us, but there was no list or packet available to review. Each resolution was to be read aloud now to save time later. When the time came to vote, only the number and title of each would be repeated, so I took out my notepad and began taking notes. It was something to do. I kept trying to figure out how many there were in total, but every number I thought I heard seemed random and absurd. Twenty-three was too few (we had nearly a dozen from my precinct alone) but 150 was unreasonable (we'd never get out of there!).

Robert's Rules of Order came into play as the audience microphones had been turned on. Several delegates took the microphone to protest reading the resolutions, since without our "credentials" the convention could not technically be called to order yet, and many people were also still signing in or standing in line for concessions. Others were upset there were no printed copies available (I suppose they would have accommodated deaf delegates if there were any, but the acoustics of the room even put the hearing at a disadvantage) and that no time was allotted for discussion at this point. Most of the points were raised "out of order" and dismissed without comment.

The chair began reading and ignored further interruptions (though the microphones remained on). She was a tiny, buoyant white woman whose voice carried well, but after four or five resolutions (and as many interruptions), her voice became strained, so someone else took over. The new orator was a black woman who, as far as I know, lacked any title. She also lacked the chair's enthusiasm and voice, reading in a low, monotonous drone that was easily lost in the arena's rafters. However, she read steadily, and when someone called out, "Madame Chair!" from a microphone, she had the luxury of responding, "I am not the chairperson," and continuing to read.

I concentrated on following along, determined to vote my conscience on every resolution. My only notes were a number and a "y" or "n" for each item--I couldn't really tell you what I intended to vote for or against once the reading had moved on. Most of them were obvious yeses, such as ending the War in Iraq. At least one was redundant (The IRS is already authorized to garnish tax refunds and rebates to pay for child support!), and about a dozen tweaked my libertarian streak enough to warrant a "no". Liberal-haters might have been disappointed at how few of the resolutions promoted "bigger" government (a notable exception called for a cabinet-level "Department of Peace" to match the power of the State Department; even I had to bristle at such a well-intentioned crusade toward bureaucracy and gridlock). The husband was sitting in front of me, cracking jokes to the coordinator and me about the futility of the recitation. I told him I was trying to follow along and he shrugged, but continued talking loudly.

A delegate made a motion to skip the recitation and pass all of the resolutions unheard, but the temporary chair of the convention (don't ask me how we got six hours into a convention without a permanent chair, because I don't know) stated that it "would not be appropriate." At that point, I wanted to move that all the resolutions be declined because this district didn't have its shit together enough to deserve a say.

I was not alone in my agitation. The mood was shifting rapidly, steadily getting worse. Resolutions were interrupted in the mid-twenties to announce that credentials were to be picked up one precinct at a time in the same manner as we had used to sign in (which would have, again, taken hours). Five minutes later, it was announced that they would be delivered to delegations, and soon the yellow cards pixelated their way into the arena.

With the resolutions paused, new vitriol was making its way to the microphones. It was often out of "order", and the chair's growing frustration came through the loudspeaker; we all grit our teeth a little more. Each pointed question or accusation (however accurate, few if any were constructive) escalated the tension, while at the same time emboldening others to stand up and complain. Each of three microphones had a growing line before it. The rules of order were mostly ignored, except by the chair, who did little to address the concerns of her petitioners. I don't know how much she could have done about many of the comments, but I was losing patience with her parlimentary failings.

A few folks familiar with the rules would say, "Point of order," or "Point of inquiry," at the mic. Someone pointed out, however, that if we were not yet called to order as a convention, then the chair had no power and the rules of order did not apply. Someone from my precinct commented that if people agree it's a convention and act accordingly, then it is a convention. My thoughts drifted over the abstract nature of governance, how power only exists as long as a people recognize it. We have a government only if the citizens submit to said government. If people said it was a convention, then it was a convention. I kept these thoughts to myself.

A quarter to five, I texted some friends, asking them to send us positive energy. I blamed it on the poor planning and (possibly deliberate) delays. And for the first time, the crowd seemed to be thinning out. Our precinct captain told us some precincts were picking delegates as soon as they got their credentials and then leaving, but that if other procedures were not followed, their votes were not likely to count. Meanwhile, someone at a microphone asked where to turn in her precinct's packets.

Saturday, Part II: Conversation Before the Storm

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 09:01:12 GMT

Some time after eleven, the Clinton delegates from our precinct arrived, taking the top row of seats, a couple of rows behind Jay and myself. They had one young person, a UTA co-ed who had so far attended everything (including this convention) with her mom, but the rest of their delegation was over forty, mostly women, and all white. They looked more like the neighbors I had expected at the original caucus. They were a friendly but quiet bunch, and for the first couple of hours, very little conversation took place between the Clinton delegates and the Obama delegates.

With both groups present, we checked and rechecked our numbers. Our precinct had been allotted 16 delegates, with the caucus deciding 9 for Obama and 7 for Clinton. We had ten Obama folks, but the couple recognized how drawn out the affair would become, so the mom opted to take the children home. Though well behaved, I'm sure they were grateful to leave. With the woman's departure, Jay retook his rightful spot as a full delegate (the woman had been an alternate, but was offered Jay's place when our coordinator had been unable to reach him before the convention) and we had exactly 9. The Obama delegates discussed media reports, including the Clinton campaign's declaration that a lot of pledged delegates were switching sides, though the Obama campaign believed otherwise. None of us saw anyone eager to change their minds in one way or the other, and certainly none of us intended to do so.

It was announced that we would be called by precinct to sign in and receive our "credentials" in fifteen minutes.
Our precinct captain and his partner came by for the first time; both were caucusing for Clinton but had been aggrevated by tactics of the executive committee in planning this convention. Our captain told us that the tent with tables out front had been their plan (and their $1300 expense) to speed up the sign-in process, but that someone higher up in the county Dems had overruled their plan the night before the convention. They openly suspected that higher-ranking Clinton supporters were trying to slow things down as much as possible, so that delegates who worked nights and weekends, had children, were not familiar with the process, or otherwise could not or would
not give up the entire day for the convention (which would theoretically skew to include more Obama supporters than Clinton supporters) would give up and leave before it ended. Looking around the room, it was hard for me to imagine it having much effect. One of my favorite sights of the convention was an Obama delegation seated up the stairs from us; everyone had matching T-shirts and professionally-printed signs. The zero in their precinct number had been changed into the Obama "O" logo. It was an all-black delegation of no evident wealth, but they had obviously organized and they seemed in it to win it. I wish I'd gotten a picture.

There were several subsequent announcements, each assuring that they were only fifteen minutes away from calling the first precinct, and the first group of precincts was finally called an hour later. Another half hour went by before others were called, but the husband of the couple showed up and said he had already signed in. Apparently, groups were not waiting to be called, and could sign in as they wanted. We hemmed and hawed about whether the whole group should go without waiting just as our captain's partner appeared and told us to hold tight, he knew a shortcut. Two minutes later, our entire precinct was following him out of the arena, through the crowded lobby (where some of the sign-in tables were set up) and out of the building. We joked that he was trying to eliminate us or lock us out, eying the Clinton delegates to see if they were still following. But outside the building all was quiet and calm, and we were led to a small side entrance just around the corner. Inside, we realized why it had been a shortcut.

The side entrance lead to a passage just off the main lobby. The ceiling was high, but the hall itself was maybe fifteen feet across, or about ten people packed in with little personal space. There was no personal space in this hallway. The hallway stretched fifteen or twenty yards, and the far end of it was bearded like a swarm of bees. Once you entered the throng, you were swimming upstream (no matter your direction) against a river of people at least a dozen wide. Halfway, there was a table along the left side, and another was on the right side just a little further. There was a layer of people signing in around each table, with a layer moving into position behind them and another waiting on their cohorts, not to mention the thick waiting lines against the walls. These layers alone rubbed uncomfortably against one another, but additional lines were trying to squeeze between the tables in one direction or the other. There was simply no room. It might have been different if the tables had been on the same side of the wall, or if they had utilized both ends of the hall, but the tables seemed positioned to maximize confusion and delay.

Everyone was amazingly calm and patient, making friends with their Democratic neighbors and sudden intimates, but I definitely wouldn't have wanted to be claustrophobic in that hallway. We inched along the wall and tiptoed into place to have our IDs checked before being assigned a sheet to sign. Our IDs were supposed to suffice, but many people brought their Voter's Registration Cards just in case (per instructions from the campaigns), and the volunteers diligently compared both to one another before handing them back. I marveled at the volunteers, who would not convey any frustration or fatigue unless asked, and then only as befits small talk. After the huge arena and the dense crowd, the act of signing in itself was anticlimactic, especially since it had been decided that we would not yet receive our "credentials". I jotted down my vote, my demographics, and my signature, then stepped back for some pictures before heading back to my seat alone. There was no way I wanted to contribute to that phalanx any longer than necessary.

When Jay returned from signing, he was focused on his phone. He needed to go to work in the afternoon and wasn't sure how much longer the convention would take. I told him I had planned to be there all day, just in case, and he agreed, but said his manager was unable or unwilling to get by without him. "I set up everything for him and left instructions. I told him I couldn't be there today." We talked about his work and how his manager was the kind of guy who would find subtle way to penalize Jay in the coming weeks if he didn't make it to work, despite Jay's legally-protected right to be there. I encouraged him to stand his ground, but he hoped he could hold out long enough that it wouldn't matter.

The afternoon was full of speakers. I was buying a soda at the concession stand when the mayor of Albuquerque was announced. I couldn't help laughing out loud, despite being alone. I explained to the person beside me that I'd previously heard rumors about the speakers who might turn out: our district was pivotal in a competitive state, and some had hypothesized that Obama and Clinton themselves might make an appearance... until we'd settled on a location shared by a gun show. Political liability aside, the Secret Service never would have allowed the security risk (gun show patrons necessarily and enthusiastically tote their weapons inside and outside of the market... I witnessed a particularly surreal moment when I attended Zest Fest on September 11, 2005). Our captain had heard that former candidate and New Mexico governor Bill Richardson might show up in their place... but instead we were getting the mayor of Albuquerque. Wouldn't you laugh?

Back in the arena, there was little to do but socialize and occasionally follow the speakers. They held little enthusiasm for me. I'd already texted several friends to observe how so many white men were enthusiastic at the microphone about how race and gender didn't matter. There was a lot of hooting and hollering for the high turnout (which I cheered) and seeing Bush leave office (which I also cheered), but there was just as much rhetoric about how important it would be that everyone in the room voted Democratic in the fall, no matter which candidate got the Presidential nod. Some went so far as to encourage those present to check the "straight ticket" box on their ballot and in November. I shuddered over this kind of rhetoric, as an independent and as an opponent to the two-party system. "Straight tickets lead to crooked parties."--I've been wanting to make that into a bumper sticker for years.

The mood seemed calmer with signatures out of the way. I texted my friends that it was turning out to be less of a mess than I'd expected. Our big-name Speaker was introduced with fanfare and approached the microphone. With my paltry awareness of politics before this decade, I was still impressed as the introduction hinted to who was to come. It was better than Bill Richardson, especially to a Texan. Former House Speaker Jim Wright was a big deal. Unfortunately, he was also an aging deal, and I paid much more attention to his introduction than I did his speech. The echoing arena already made hearing difficult, but his declined speaking prowess made matters worse. Still, they got me cheering for a Democratic icon.

As it became evident that the speech would be impossible to follow, Jay and I gave in to our instincts for lunch. The main concession stand seemed to be the only one offering anything besides pretzels, chips, and $11 sandwhiches, but the line was forboding. There were about six separate lines, four snaking toward the tractor and one on either side bent down the hallway. Jay and I hopped on the end of one and stood still for a while. The prices were outrageous, of course, but still better than at your average MLB ballpark and just as good (I admit it, I have a soft spot in my heart for overpriced sports food). I was hoping to get by with a single hot dog.

After five or so minutes, though, Jay and I had barely moved. I joked that we could probably walk to a restaurant and bring food back faster than we could standing in line. Jay was all over the idea, but I wasn't ready to take the comment seriously. I was afraid of spending too much or buying something that I didn't really want, so Jay departed alone. I stayed in line another few minutes before returning to my seat. I razzed the wünder-delegate for reading a copy of Elle, but she insisted it was not a regular thing. All of the models in the ads looked the same to me. The African immigrant seemed to be paying more attention, but not necessarily a lot.

I decided to tour again, since I hadn't looked very far around the other side of the arena. Past the congested concession stand, I found a couple more, one of which offered hot dogs with much less wait. I picked one up (as well as a soda) and returned to our seating area just as Jay arrived with a bag of Sonic. We laughed and ate quietly.

I had taken a seat back one row before Jay's return and decided to stay there and interract more with the Clinton delegates. I politely introduced myself and we all exchanged a bit of small talk. I picked up on a scientific comment made by the UTA student to her mom and asked her what she was studying.

Physics. My favorite.

And I'm really not just saying that because she was cute and political. I love physics, and I quickly realized that I could discuss the theoretical stuff with her. We dove right into quantum mechanics and astrophysics. I was trying to remember details of something I'd recently heard on Discovery (the theory of Boltzmann's brains) and she pulled out the latest issue of Discover to see if it could help. I was just starting to tell her about the Sokal Affair (Alan Sokal taught my lone physics course in college and was one of my favorite professors, even becoming a superhero in my sketches) when a new speaker took the mic with a boombastic voice, bringing our delightful dalliance into science to an abrupt end.