Oh God how insufferably polite these social workers are being! Maybe it's some kind of sarcasm? Back at the sign-in tent, your host - me - sits twidling a pen, wondering what to write next....
Meanwhile, the social workers are preaching about how qualified they are, and how the big bad elephants will slash the social budget. Volunteer host listens. Yes, Master of Social Welfare. Yes, concern for the safety net. Yes, yes, yes; trash the Republicans, praise the Democrats. The small crowd applauds.
Well, at least they brought a crowd with them, even it it's small....
YES, WE NEED REFORM OF THE WELFARE SYSTEM, AND YES, WE NEED... BUT NOT AT THE EXPENSE OF....
Several white boys carrying African drums stroll purposefully in the gate and settle down near the tent. Politely trying not to be too loud (while social workers continue their speeches), the young men begin to patter on their skins. Bum badda boom tiddy boo-ba-boom badda boom badda boom boom boom....
Our local mid-day breeze has come to life, right on cue. Feels good sitting in the shade, listening to the drumming white boys on the sun, sweat beginning to drip from their brown and blond dreadlocks, and run down their slender, pale bodies.
I turn my gaze toward the Convention Center, sweep along its huge green & beige body. My eyes reach the building's left edge exactly at the moment when a flight of World War II fighters buzzes by, flying low over the waters of San Diego Bay, trailing smoke, then disappearing behind the center.
"Did you see that?" - says the cop in the tent with me."Yeah," I answer, "Dole's here."
"That's the sign?"
"I'm sure it is."
PRESIDENT CLINTON IS OUR ONLY....
Echoes ripple across the zone. Drummers quietly continue their rhythm, warming up for the next group - the Green Party Council. I almost imagine I can hear the cheers from Embarcadero Park, and the roar of motorcycles carrying their political burden unto the feet of Kansas's own native son. Almost. Not quite.
Wonder how many people are suffering heat exhaustion out there, cheering the November losers. The day is really heating up. A camerman mounts the media platform, looks around. I hope more action to come, this week. Get some coverage of the speeches. As if. There'll never be more than a brief sound bite and flash to make fun of, if anything. Look at me - Mister Cynic. Well... protesters don't buy advertisements.... Money is where it's at. Television delivers viewers to the advertisers. Just like here.
Remember, tou-dlos-I is: _________ spelled backwards(?!). Don't forget to take advantage of our special offer: F.U. bi-wan tudei yu git wan frei. *-e.f.g.-* (Don't ask here, e-mail xanadu, we'll tell you, after consulting the magic decoder ring!) Hey! YOu dAMn COPY EDItOR gEt tHE HeLL Out oF My jourNAL!!!!!!! That's not in my CONTRact!
Sorry about that. (As if... again). Must be the sun. I desperately need something cold to drink. Realize the cop just said something to me. Look up from the notepad.
"What?""I said, Danial, the free Snapple barrel came into the lot."
"What?! Free Snapple??????!!!!!!!" (Talk about selling out!)
"Yeah - see? I got mine." Pop, glug glug, "Ah...."
Grab the camera and run ruN RuN RUN RRRUUNNNN!!!!!
Ah.............
Look! Free Snapple!
"...LIKE TO THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING DOWN HERE TODAY, AND URGE YOU TO SUPPORT THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF SOCIAL WORKERS...."
Red light. Let the Green drumming begin!