September 2004 Archives
Following the republican up 7th Avenue towards the garden, I flashed my newly donned credentials at each intersection and was soon in das 'forbidden zone'. It was, honestly, a little scary - but the hundreds of volunteers they had, apparently, bussed in from the South to welcome us made me feel quite at ease. See - a little drawl IS good for something! After being greeted by each and every one of them, we approached the first security station where my credential was swipped through a little reader. The guard told me that this lets 'the system' know that I'm in the building. I just didn't have the heart to tell him that the 'me' the system had just recorded into 'the system' wasn't actually 'me' at all. Ah well. The line was moving along quickly, and I was carried towards the metal detectors.
Waiting to empty out my pockets into the plastic bin provided by the big men with guns, I overheard the two people behind me talking:
Man 1: Are you happy that yer here this time around?
Man 2: Actually, I wish that the republicans would've run a new candidate - someone a bit more conservative.
Man 1: Yeah, me too, but I guess we just gotta support whoever the party chooses.
There was no irony involved in this conversation. None. None at all. As I removed my wrist watch and dropped it into the bin along with my cellphone, camera, keys, and wallet, I noticed that I had goosebumps. Moments later, these two men looked on disapprovingly as I crossed over the threshold of the beeping metal detector. I was quickly pulled to the side and 'wanded' by what looked to be ... nevermind. I was used to this sort of treatment. The security guards quickly located the film canisters in my pocket that I had overlooked, and after examining them closely, waved me away.
Boy From Troy was already pushing ahead - eager to find blogger alley. I was eager to get out of this sea of patriotic Wal-mart-ware. It was just too much red, white, ... white (I looked around), white, white, white, white, black! (oh no, he's NYPD), white, white white white ... and blue
Waiting to empty out my pockets into the plastic bin provided by the big men with guns, I overheard the two people behind me talking:
Man 1: Are you happy that yer here this time around?
Man 2: Actually, I wish that the republicans would've run a new candidate - someone a bit more conservative.
Man 1: Yeah, me too, but I guess we just gotta support whoever the party chooses.
There was no irony involved in this conversation. None. None at all. As I removed my wrist watch and dropped it into the bin along with my cellphone, camera, keys, and wallet, I noticed that I had goosebumps. Moments later, these two men looked on disapprovingly as I crossed over the threshold of the beeping metal detector. I was quickly pulled to the side and 'wanded' by what looked to be ... nevermind. I was used to this sort of treatment. The security guards quickly located the film canisters in my pocket that I had overlooked, and after examining them closely, waved me away.
Boy From Troy was already pushing ahead - eager to find blogger alley. I was eager to get out of this sea of patriotic Wal-mart-ware. It was just too much red, white, ... white (I looked around), white, white, white, white, black! (oh no, he's NYPD), white, white white white ... and blue
The evening started off on quite an exciting note. After an anonymous phone tip that the the object of my affection ... i mean ... the object of my protesting was hanging out at Barracuda, I grabbed my camera, my protest sign, and some cab money. Ten short minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a taxi admiring the group of 8 muscle men (that just happened to be police men ... it was chelsea after all, and they may have been any Tom, Dick, or Hairy ... I mean, Harry) that were standing at the corner of 21st and 8th. Waiting for the light to turn green so the taxi could drive me that one short block to my destination, the sound of sirens echoed through the air.
Looking down 8th Ave, I was startled to see two firetrucks screaming towards us. It was at this moment that my brilliant cab driver decided that it would be a good idea to pull in front of the firetrucks - the light was green, after all. The 8 policemen, however, did not seem to think that pulling out in front of the firetrucks was a good idea. In fact, they thought it was a really, really, bad idea. So bad, in fact, that 2 of them jumped onto the hood of the taxi, one half on the roof (and half inside my window ... my, what a package), and one on the trunk. The two on the hood begun screaming at the driver as they pounded the hood of the cab with their hands. 'Stop the car! Stop the Car!' they screamed. 'Never ... NEVER ... pull out in front of emergency vehicles. When are you thinking? When you hear sirens ... you STOP!' They kept pounding the hood of the car ... so hard, in fact, that the meter reset. 'Wow,' I thought, 'this is the cheapest cabride ever!'
As the cabbie pulled away, I smiled at the police officers. I swear one of them winked at me. He was cute, but I had more important things to do.
Walking into the bar, there was the the ... (gulp) ... republican - sitting by the bar talking to this cuttie that used to work at Daddy (in between when it was Fat Cock and the Hole). I approached with caution.
As it turns out (after some careful persuading), the idea of having a personal protester made the republican so hot that he decided to take me to the convention with him (you gotta admire a man with ... um ... extra credentials). I zipped up my pants and we were on our way.
Here I was ... a gay democrat ... heading into the belly of the beast. Only one question remained: Would they be able to smell my fear? (... to be continued)
Looking down 8th Ave, I was startled to see two firetrucks screaming towards us. It was at this moment that my brilliant cab driver decided that it would be a good idea to pull in front of the firetrucks - the light was green, after all. The 8 policemen, however, did not seem to think that pulling out in front of the firetrucks was a good idea. In fact, they thought it was a really, really, bad idea. So bad, in fact, that 2 of them jumped onto the hood of the taxi, one half on the roof (and half inside my window ... my, what a package), and one on the trunk. The two on the hood begun screaming at the driver as they pounded the hood of the cab with their hands. 'Stop the car! Stop the Car!' they screamed. 'Never ... NEVER ... pull out in front of emergency vehicles. When are you thinking? When you hear sirens ... you STOP!' They kept pounding the hood of the car ... so hard, in fact, that the meter reset. 'Wow,' I thought, 'this is the cheapest cabride ever!'
As the cabbie pulled away, I smiled at the police officers. I swear one of them winked at me. He was cute, but I had more important things to do.
Walking into the bar, there was the the ... (gulp) ... republican - sitting by the bar talking to this cuttie that used to work at Daddy (in between when it was Fat Cock and the Hole). I approached with caution.
As it turns out (after some careful persuading), the idea of having a personal protester made the republican so hot that he decided to take me to the convention with him (you gotta admire a man with ... um ... extra credentials). I zipped up my pants and we were on our way.
Here I was ... a gay democrat ... heading into the belly of the beast. Only one question remained: Would they be able to smell my fear? (... to be continued)
