I spent this afternoon at a wedding reception. Since I didn’t know how long it would last or if people would want to do anything afterwards, I left myself the rest of the day free.

 A free Saturday.

 There was a mountain of temptation to sneak off to Six Flaggs or Cherokee Park, but instead I decided it was high time to get my office unpacked. I end up writing from my comfy living room chair most of the time. Sometimes, if I want to avoid interruption, it’s good to have a closeable door.

I’ve cleaned the living room of crap, repaired the broken drawer on my desk, and unpacked another dozen boxes I’d allowed myself to work around for the last few months. It’s good to have a functional office again. Heck, if you ignore the carpets this place feels downright presentable right now.

Maybe I should experiment with more of this “unscheduled” time.

There are a lot of other things I ought to do tonight, but while Chaz and Shannon play Guitar Hero, I’m catching up on some blogging. I really need to consolidate these things. I never meant to have half a dozen.

On the good news front, I was invited to do a quick spot of guest blogging at The Big Picture. It’s not my best work as it felt a little stale writing about Indiana Jones so long after seeing the movie. Nevertheless, do feel free to abuse their comments by showering me with inordinate praise. Mayhap they’ll invite me back in the future.

After a craptastic day at work, I’m feeling more relaxed tonight than I have in weeks. I’ve been worried about how I was going to achieve that vaunted work/life balance I hear praised so highly. I’m the first salesperson into my office every morning. It’s not uncommon for me to work through lunch. I’ve been so damn determined to impress the hell out of my boss.

Today, I faced the realization that’s never going to happen. Luckily, it’s not my fault. He put himself in a bad situation which I suspect may leave him homeless & royally screwed in the next few years. This gets taken out on his employees, who he blames for his poor decisions. The last I heard, I was exceeding my benchmarks. This morning, I was flabbergasted by a set of personal attacks culminating with him saying I’m so incompetant he expects me to quit. (Incidentally, every salesperson he hired has quit in one year. He doesn’t see working with him as the one think they all have in common.) The rest of my office shrugged his tirade off. He gets in a mood sometimes, they said. Take everything he says with a grain of salt, they said. Learn to work around him, just like the rest of us.

I’ve been under tremendous stress trying to live up to his expectations. I haven’t left myself a lot of time for anything other than work. After my coworkers assured me this kind of treatment is his idea of motivation, the weight of all that pressure evaporated. It was an amazing feeling. I honestly didn’t realize how much I’d let work absorb me. With the right attitude, he could’ve harnessed my energies to make him a heck of a lot of money. Instead, he’s created another indifferent worker drone.

So tonight, instead of the usual stress and extra product study, I’m kicking back with some gaming and music. Okay, gaming, music, and a brief rant. Hopefully, you’ll be hearing a lot more about friends & family than work in the near future. I can thank my boss for one thing. He reminded me what’s important.

But I never would have guessed that it would still be around after the apocalypse.

A wave of lust hit me when I read about the new solid state Eee PC’s. They’re small, they’re cheap, and they’ll fit in a handbag. Oh, the shiny. All sorts of happy potentials danced in my brain until I was bitch slapped by a shocking realization. If the iPhone 2 really does have enterprise level features, all I need is a bluetooth keyboard and it’ll have everything I want in an ultraportable computer for a fraction the price and size.

I love my phone.

Because I fell asleep in the middle of the movie. I had a grand time before hand. Rum, costumes, rum, a caricature artist, rum, teaching small children to use a whip, and a bucket of rum. Alas, somewhere between bickering in trucks and the final credits, I found myself in a land of adventure wherein Marion rescued Indiana from falling into a pit of spikes outside the Tomb of Gilgamesh. As they descended into the bowels of the temple, some private secrets were revealed (none of which involved Shia LeBouf), several traps were cleverly disabled, and they were about to open the actual sarcophagus … when I was rudely elbowed back to wakey land.

Meanwhile, everyone else saw a bad remake of Cocoon.

My Indy was better.

June 7 - 8
Jello Wars / Boardgames Meetup
 
June 14
Jason & Laura’s Wedding
 
June 20 - 22
Chaz & Chris Rachael’s anniversary - we’ll be out of town
 
June 27 - 29
Origins?
 
July 4 - 6
Fireworks Xtravaganza
 
July 11 - 13
Boardgames Meetup
 
July 18 - 20
KY Ren Faire
 
July 25 - 27
CR Out of Town - you guys party down with Chaz
 
August 1 - 3
Open - POSSIBLE COMMUNAL AUGUST BIRTHDAY PARTY?
 
August 8 - 10
Boardgames Meetup
CR Out of Town (Business Training)
 
August 15 - 17
GenCon? 
 
August 22 - 24
Chaz’s Birthday Party - stay tuned!
 
August 29 - 31
DragonCon

Muskogee, OK just elected a 19 year old college student for mayor. That’s about a 45 minute drive from my dad’s home in Tahlequah. I know the life expectancy in rural Oklahoma is a lot lower than the national average, but geez, this is taking it to extremes.

I knew he was still alive!

I’m fresh home from a truly surreal political experience.

This afternoon, I spied a hand printed sign declaring Barak Obama would be at the downtown convention center tonight. I happen to work about 10 blocks away. No way was I going to miss this. I texted Joe Mays. He said he’d love to see Obama live. We’d meet at Saffron’s for a meattastic dinner of Persian food then have our political socks rocked off by a man reputed to be the most charismatic speaker of his generation. I couldn’t wait.

As we neared the convention center, the first thing we saw were the anti-abortion protesters. “Obama Votes to Kill Newborns & Preborn Babies!” declared one man’s sign. ”Lord Forgive Us And Our Nation!” screamed another.  As usual, the protesters brought their daughters. No doubt their sons were too busy playing Grand Theft Auto IV to be bothered with a rally.

The line came to an abrupt halt about a block away from the entrance. The crowd practically vibrated with energy. People wearing Obama t-shirts mingled with folks in suits freshly off work. A blonde girl from Michigan kept trying to keep the energy up. She’d climb on top of a fire hydrant and try to start a rousing chant. The unmoving crowd felt a little too sarcastic to play along.

“Yes We Can!”

“Go inside?”

“Yes We Can!”

“Move the line?”

“Yes We Can!”

Eventually, a man in an Obama shirt and a suitcoat told us the hall was full. A disappointed murmur went through the crowd. But wait! 1500 of us could go to an overflow room! We wouldn’t get to see Obama, but at least we could hear the speech. To my surprise, almost no one chose to leave.

Inside the convention center, we traded one endless line for another. Hey, at least we were moving! That’s progress, right? Eventually, the reason for the glacial slowness became clear - we were bottlenecked at a security checkpoint. “Think we’ll have to take off our shoes?” A woman nearby joked. A laugh died in my throat. The six metal detectors were manned by two dozen TSA agents.

Get ready, people. This is your future. We all opened our purses and let total strangers rifle through the contents. We turned on our cellphones, cameras, and computers. We threw away ALL liquids (no 3 oz bottles allowed here.) Joe brought two massive black bags of sound and photo equipment. They didn’t bat an eye at him. The gentleman behind me only brought the contents of his pockets. Oh, but he was a middle aged black man with nice dreads pulled into an elegant ponytail and a diamond nose stud similar to my own. He was pulled aside and wanded. The black TSA agent also wanded the next black person to walk through - in this case, a jolly looking woman in her 50’s who was clearly trying to be good natured about this. The next few white people walked through unquestioned.

Ah, but now we could hear the gentle roar of the crowd within. Soon we’d be in his presence. We finally passed through the double doors of the convention hall. About 50 feet ahead of us people packed into ceiling high bleachers. Between the rows, we could see floodlights illuminating the people on the floor crammed up close to the stage. We took a few steps in that direction when suddenly a cop was in our face. ”GET BEHIND THE CURTAIN!”

Huh?

There was clearly plenty of space along the walls and between the bleachers. We weren’t alone in our confusion. A dozen cops, security guards, and assorted Armed People In Uniform made a human wall between us and the promised land. Ahead of us was laughter, camaraderie, and cheer. We tried to shuffle forward again. “I SAID GET BEHIND THE CURTAIN! NOW! NOW! NOW!”  A few people tried to make a break for the walls. The guards stopped them. You could get behind the curtain right now or get the hell out.

Joe and I claimed we wanted to buy a pretzel. After all, there were long lines at the snack stands flanking the room. Hell no. The guard wasn’t buying it. No pretzel for us. Get behind the curtain. NOW! We did notice a few black families allowed to sneak off to the refreshment line. Perhaps they let people with children through. Perhaps they thought Joe and I looked like we’d had one too many pretzels in our lives. But honestly, after seeing the black TSA guards treat the black people in line like criminals, I couldn’t begrudge letting the families through.

More shouting, more bizarre anger, and the guards eventually shuffled us all behind the curtain. Outside, we could hear people applauding and cheering. The room practically vibrated with their energy. On our side of the curtain, people sat on the floor looking dejected and confused. This wasn’t why we were here. We couldn’t see anything, we couldn’t hear anything, and now we were trapped in a windowless warehouse with a concrete floor, a giant black curtain on one side and an impromptu barricade on the other. Four varieties of police glared at us from behind a line of stacked tables, waist high fences, and a U-Haul truck. They had guns. We’d been searched. It felt like I’d just been dropped into an episode of Jericho.

Our crowd had the confused look of people at the beginning of a refugee movie . Why was this happening to us? What had we done? There was no reason for this treatment. We could hear music, laughter, then a roar of applause from the chosen people. Obama must’ve taken the stage. As one, we tried to pour out through the curtains in hope of getting a distant glimpse. Perhaps we might even hear a mangled syllable or two.

“GET BACK BEHIND THE CURTAIN! NOW, PEOPLE! GET. BEHIND. THE. CURTAIN.”

Once more, we were herded away. Now, the angry guards didn’t have to do it this way. They could’ve said, “The fire marshall won’t allow us to have more than X people in that space! We’re sorry! Please move over here where it’s safe!” No one wants to die in a fire or be trampled to death. We would’ve begrudgingly cooperated. If it was a security issue, they could’ve honestly told us. “We need to keep X eyes on the candidate per X number of people in attendance. We’re glad you’re here, but we have to keep him safe. Please move behind the curtain so we can keep an eye on the crowd!” I’m grasping at straws here. Honestly, I have no idea why they wouldn’t let us squeeze in. There was room, there was will, and there was nothing apparent to lose. It felt like a sad and scary power trip.

Behind the curtain, things were quiet as we all strained to listen. Obama’s voice was nothing more than a hint of baritone. We could hear the crowd, though, which only made people more sullen. As the once happy faces grew more confused and bitter, there was a commotion near the front of the crowd. Some bright staffer brought out some speakers! Hooray! They were massively inadequate to fill the space, but hey, at least we could pretend to hear.

People sitting alone or in clusters of one or two took to their feet. They packed in close to hear. Some of them took photos of the speakers. Others waved their Obama placards at the big plastic boxes. The speakers didn’t wave back. I sat on the floor, gaping.

The sense of surreality spiked when the curtains parted for a stretcher pushed by a couple EMT’s and led by a suited woman with a walkie-talkie. We heard Obama say something about a woman falling over - possibly from excitement? Anxiety? Heat stroke? He kept asking the crowd if someone could give her some water. Sorry Obama. We had all our fluids taken away by the TSA. We never saw the woman in question. Heck, we hadn’t seen Obama or the cheering crowd. For all we knew, we were curtained off from bright lights, computer speakers, and half a dozen subwoofers. Once we’d inhaled enough gas, our alien overlords would take us back to the mothership for processing. Incidentally, one of the policewomen looked just like Dana Scully.

As the speech went on, the crowd eventually broke into three camps: the people at the front eager to prove they’d drunk the Kool-Aid, the people in the back who were still hurt and confused by this treatment, and those of us in the middle who’d given up on the rally in favor of crowd watching.  

Speaking of which, I didn’t see any hispanics or asians. I’d say it was about a quarter black and 3/4 white. Within that limited pool, though, men and women seemed equally represented and there was a broad spectrum of ages. It felt a little like a bizarro world version of the 60’s, when minority only meant one thing. Regardless of race, it was clearly an educated crowd with disposable income to spend on nice shoes and suits.

Between watching kids play on the bare concrete floor and keeping half an eye on the guards surrounding us on 3 sides, I picked up bits and pieces of the speech. It sounded pretty familiar. In fact, I voted for Clinton based on those same issues back in 1992, although without the creepy feeling I might be taken outside and shot at any moment. If this is what a rally is like, I can’t wait to see what we have to go through at the polls.

Somehow, an optimistic rumor spread through the crowd. The chosen people got to see the whole thing, but our reward for devotion would be a chance to shake the man’s hand! He’d come back here after the rally. Maybe some of the magic would rub off on us and we’d turn into ambitious, charismatic people too! I didn’t really believe it, but hey, what did I have to lose? Once the speech was over, we heard a thunder of feet as the chosen people trooped out of the auditorium. Behind our curtain, we packed in close to the speakers. A woman in a volunteer badge seemed agitated. She’d been promised the volunteers would get some one on one time. Where the hell did all these people come from?

If this was a dystopian movie, this is the point where they would’ve thrown one bag of rations into the middle of the crowd to watch us kill one another for it. We were that charged. Instead, Barak Obama himself did indeed appear. I’m 5′4″. All I could see was the back of a sea of heads. To my astonishment, Joe picked me up without warning. “He’s over there!” Yes! I caught a glimpse! Joe and I both tried to snap photos. Mine looked much like my actual view - waving hands and back of heads. His may be better. At one point, I was within 20 feet of the man. I could’ve  hit him with a carefully aimed spitball, but there was no hope of shaking his hand. He was too far away and there were too many people desperate to touch him.

Obama understandably disappeared five minutes after letting a group of strangers touch him. The guards didn’t have to yell at us anymore. We knew the drill. Get behind the curtain then get out. At this point, we rejoined the stream of people who’d seen him live. They were charged with excitement. I saw a sea of smiling faces. They were pumped, eager, and honestly optimistic. I was fascinated.

Seven different tables had sprung up outside selling their own Obama t-shirts, buttons, and bumper stickers. Most of them were inclusive, but there were some interesting ones with a ghostly Martin Luther King pointing at Obama over the text, “I have a dream.” Joe and I parted ways when we reached his car. I’d left mine at work, so I still had several blocks left to go. Along the way, a Humana employee overheard me say, “That was awesome,” to someone’s voicemail. She stopped in her tracks, grinning, and said, “There isn’t a better word.” She whipped out her camera. Apparently, she’d been close enough to get some great shots of him. She’d never met me before in her life, but darnit, she needed to talk to someone about this experience NOW. Again, I was fascinated. Her experience at the rally was so different from my own.

I’d like to make it clear I don’t blame Obama himself for my less than inspiring experience at his rally. He swept into town on an unexpected visit and put the arrangements into the hands of other people. His job is to give a moving speech. It’s someone else’s job to take care of the logistics. Still, I worry this is a sign of how difficult it will be to turn back the clock on Bush’s culture of fear. I want to be optimistic about America’s future, but it’s hard to do when surrounded by screaming armed people who want to keep you invisible from the majority of the population.