It is strange - this feeling of living history, living this historical moment.
Getting ready with the city of Denver for Obama's acceptance speech on the 45th anniversary of Martin Luther King's speech, we are all living the dream.
Yes.
We can.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Democratic National Convention 2008 Denver, Colorado
I came to Denver on Frontier Airlines yesterday to participate in the Democratic National Convention. At the Indianapolis airport as I was going through security, the TSA guard told me to convince him to vote for Barack Obama in the 5 minutes it took me to go through security. Seeing me in my Obama t-shirt and putting my copy of Audacity of Hope with my computer through the x-ray scanner, I suppose he thought that I might have a good idea of what to say; which, I have to say myself, I did. Telling me that his income definitely did not qualify him to benefit from the Bush-McCain tax plan, he assured me that Obama had his vote. As he was handing me back my shoes, we both intuitively realized that we had just had one of those serendipitous social moments that can be so magical when shared with a stranger. Refraining myself (with difficulty) from hugging him, I realized that the moment provided me with the perfect frame for understanding my past few months of volunteering for the campaign in Paris with Democrats Abroad, and the Obama office in Bloomington: this campaign has become personal for millions of people because it relies on dialogue and the person-to-person connection which comes only through grass-roots engagements.
It is strange - this feeling of living history, living this historical moment.
Getting ready with the city of Denver for Obama's acceptance speech on the 45th anniversary of Martin Luther King's speech, we are all living the dream.
Yes.
We can.
It is strange - this feeling of living history, living this historical moment.
Getting ready with the city of Denver for Obama's acceptance speech on the 45th anniversary of Martin Luther King's speech, we are all living the dream.
Yes.
We can.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Can you get in? Do you have the juice?
In his latest "Carpetbagger at the Convention" video for The New York Times, David Carr addresses the camera:
"The game is access. Washington or here, can you get in? Do you have the juice?"
The specific access he is refering to at the moment is to the GQ/Maker's Mark after-party where journalists, advertiser's and lobbyists pundify about the day's events. But those journalists who do get through the door of these fancy post-convention events are not necessarily those who gather around the free beer spicket at the temporary shelter of the "New Media Tent." These two poles are an interesting way to visualize and think about the locations of the conversational center and periphery. Not just the geographical center of the Pepsi Center where the majority of the Democratic Convention activities are taking place, or the CNN Grill which is by invitation only, but the more abstract center where the intersection of power, access and affiliation intersect. Who gets to speak and from where are they speaking?
But even before asking after the the power dynamics which lie behind the enunciative act, it is important to go back to Carr's question: "Can you get in? Do you have the juice?" The hierarchy of passes which are being distributed for access to the Convention are byzantine in their intricacy: a green "Perimeter Pass" will get you through security to the outside of the Pepsi Center for a specific day, but not through the actual doors of the Pepsi Center itself. An orange "Arena Pass" will get you through the doors of the Convention Center, but not into any of the actual events; the lowly "Arena Pass" holder has to loiter self-consciously in the hallways while those who hold a coveted purple "Floor Pass" can traipse regally through the doors to actual seating inside the event. All of this is trumped, however, by the burgundy (and rarely-seen but often-discussed) "All Access Pass." And that sort of pass can get you things one can only dream of.
Carr, attempting comfort once he himself has already gotten in to the party states, "Once you get in, the party always stinks." But he does go on to say: "It's breaking through the door that matters."
But it is the door itself which is worthy of investigation and asking how much passing its threshold changes the things that are said.
"The game is access. Washington or here, can you get in? Do you have the juice?"
The specific access he is refering to at the moment is to the GQ/Maker's Mark after-party where journalists, advertiser's and lobbyists pundify about the day's events. But those journalists who do get through the door of these fancy post-convention events are not necessarily those who gather around the free beer spicket at the temporary shelter of the "New Media Tent." These two poles are an interesting way to visualize and think about the locations of the conversational center and periphery. Not just the geographical center of the Pepsi Center where the majority of the Democratic Convention activities are taking place, or the CNN Grill which is by invitation only, but the more abstract center where the intersection of power, access and affiliation intersect. Who gets to speak and from where are they speaking?
But even before asking after the the power dynamics which lie behind the enunciative act, it is important to go back to Carr's question: "Can you get in? Do you have the juice?" The hierarchy of passes which are being distributed for access to the Convention are byzantine in their intricacy: a green "Perimeter Pass" will get you through security to the outside of the Pepsi Center for a specific day, but not through the actual doors of the Pepsi Center itself. An orange "Arena Pass" will get you through the doors of the Convention Center, but not into any of the actual events; the lowly "Arena Pass" holder has to loiter self-consciously in the hallways while those who hold a coveted purple "Floor Pass" can traipse regally through the doors to actual seating inside the event. All of this is trumped, however, by the burgundy (and rarely-seen but often-discussed) "All Access Pass." And that sort of pass can get you things one can only dream of.
Carr, attempting comfort once he himself has already gotten in to the party states, "Once you get in, the party always stinks." But he does go on to say: "It's breaking through the door that matters."
But it is the door itself which is worthy of investigation and asking how much passing its threshold changes the things that are said.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Orlando International Airport
A step ahead of Fay, my sister and I fly from Orlando to Atlanta and Bloomington, respectively. A birthday weekend brought us all together - to celebrate in the humidity of a tropical Florida summer, among the songs of the tree frogs. McCaine was also here today, doing whatever it is that he does. Obama arrives in Orlando tomorrow. Lawn signs sprouting up on our neighborhood lawns clearly demarcate loyalties long foresworn or sympaticos shared. Following these faux polls, the signs are so far evenly split. Although it is only the pretty blue signs that arouse a final burst of energy as we go round the last bend on our daily jog, my sister and I screaming "YES WE CAN!" 
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