Despite political rhetoric slung to get elected, no party can take care of all people and all problems at once, and resources and time are limited. This was tacitly acknowledged by the DNC when they tried to quash the Poverty Council.
Though Bob Putnam was old enough to be my father and he nurtured and supported me, as he did for hundreds of other young creative artists, I would not say he was a father figure. I would expect a father to be an authority figure. Bob was an anti-authority figure.
The tension was there for anyone to see, as when the chair of the DNC Rural Council, Kylie Oversen, told a TV station in her home state of North Dakota that “a lot of rural Democrats get overlooked, as they are in flyover states and red states.”
I can hardly put into words how weird (since that is the Democrats’ own word of the month) it was to see dozens of international figures, including Harris and her husband, the Walzes, the Clintons, the Obamas, Bernie Sanders, Lil Jon, Common, and Stevie Wonder, all in short order. For most of the time, however, I sat there feeling either dead inside or professionally Zen, in service to hoping to see what was really going on apart from marketing tricks.
Veterans hold a trove of experience for the country and, if the speakers this day are to be believed, a relatively sure path to leadership and personal sacrifice. But it should be pointed out that the talk at the meeting was 100 percent unidirectional, from the politicians to the attendees. No questions or other input were permitted.
My experience with the DNC’s event has been not only long walks and great expense, but closed media offices, people who think they know but do not know, absent or last-minute email information that ends up limiting reporting, and being denied access to meetings on the basis of limited seating, where in reality there are hundreds of empty chairs.
Conventions are celebrations of future power not yet won, so there must be a show commensurate with the spoils. The DNC is being held in the two biggest buildings in Chicago, which not coincidentally celebrate the highest powers in our land: business, in the shape of McCormick Place, more commonly used for enormous trade shows; and entertainment, represented by the United Center arena.
On January of this year Neko Case posted to Instagram an unglamour shot of herself with the note, “This is me all hagged-out drained of life essence.” Even the red had bled out of her hair.
Often we think that the paths we choose are straight—northerly from Florida to Maryland, in the case of the transit of my friend’s boat, Castaway—but in reality our lives are made of arcs, loops, and retracings.
Fred could not pilot his own boat during the inspection. Fred had never done vital maintenance; the generator alone was a rusted hulk with rotting hoses. Fred was an aging guy who owned a chain of carpet stores, or some such, and was dowdy. A real Rotarian.