Kid Rock Accepts NAACP Award Amid Protest Over Use of Confederate Flag

As the majority of the country spontaneously cheered news of Osama Bin Laden's death, musician/rapper Kid Rock enthusiastically accepted the Great Expectations Award at the NAACP's 56th annual Fight For Freedom Fund Dinner. According to an official statement, the Detroit branch of the African-American civil rights organization decided to honor Rock for "lift[ing] up the great expectations of many around our nation concerning the future of the City of Detroit." The event attracted over 10,000 guests and raised more than $1 million.

Some criticized the choice of honoree, citing Rock's prominent display of the Confederate flag in stage shows and videos. Earlier in the afternoon, about 50 protestors marched outside Cobo Hall where the dinner was held with signs reading "Say No To Kid Rock" and "Audit NAACP." Adolph Mongo, a political consultant and head of Detroiters for Progress, burned a Confederate flag over a garbage can to emphasize his opposition to Rock.

That flag "stands for hatred, bigotry, racism, murder. Every bigot and racist in this country loves that flag," complained Mongo. "If Kid Rock was alive in the 50s in Selma (Ala.) he would have beaten up John Lewis and waving the Confederate flag."

In an interview with Fox 2 before the dinner, Mongo elucidated his position on use of the Confederate flag. "That has become a symbol of hate, bigotry and racism in this country," he said. "That's the battle cry of the Confederacy, who fought to preserve slavery. So, it's unacceptable. Would any Jewish organizations honor any entertainer that flew a Nazi flag at their concerts? No."

Rock, whose real name is Robert Ritchie, called the controversy "a fiasco," and added, "I've never flown that flag with hate in my heart, not one ounce." He also defended his use of the flag as an homage to Southern rock, saying "it simply looks cool." Perhaps to divert attention to the positive, Rock pledged $50,000 to Detroit charities and another $50,000 for storm relief in Southern states ravaged by tornadoes. He ended his speech by saying, "I love America. I love Detroit and I love black people."

Stopping short of calling him a racist, some believe Rock is on the wrong side of proper behavior. In this day and age, public display of the Confederate flag shows a lack of sensitivity to those with a long history of suffering under Confederate authority. Symbols can mean different things to different people, but in this case, there is no mistaking the original message of the Confederate flag. Perhaps it has morphed over time, but then again, perhaps not. I know Jewish people who still refuse to buy German products or tour Germany.

Rock probably isn't a racist, but he could certainly use a heaping helping of some good old fashioned common sense.

Gary Kasparov Interrupted by Flying Penis

American political candidates aren't the only ones enduring the slings and arrows of opposition. The hilarious effects of glasnost and perestroika were on display as Gary Kasparov, retired chess champion and political activist, interrupted a weekend rally to observe the flight of a wayward wang.

Don't have a cow. The offending operative wasn't real, just hysterically funny.

I'm still trying to figure out Second Life. According to a more astute observer the incident mimicked a similar attack in the alternate reality. According to a report from Belfast,

The prank was staged by 'a couple of pro-Kremlin Young Russia activists' reports the Moscow Times. Mr Kasparov was unharmed.

Kasparov laughed off the incident remarking that it was 'below the belt.'

'I think we have to be thankful for the opposition's demonstration of the level of discourse we need to anticipate,' he said.

An onlooker said the incident was a 'genital reminder about who is in charge.'

Bah-dah-bum.

The flying wang was an immediate crowd pleaser. News correspondents mass recorded the attack and someone quickly downloaded it for prosperity. A dark haired diminutive correspondent ran out of the room so fast, I couldn't tell if he/she was trying to claim first dibs or satisfy a sudden personal urge.

The wang could have been more than just a prank, possibly carrying a recording device of its own. That would explain the actions of a way too serious security guard who quickly disabled the otherwise harmless intruder. Did you see that guy's face? Scary.

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Live Blogging 2008 Ohio Democratic Debate

Too ill to blog tonight's Democratic debate, but I'll be watching. The two candidates left standing are facing off again, this time at Cleveland State University. Many are hoping for a knock down drag-out winner take all outcome. Break out the NyQuil.

Follow these live blogs for a blow by blow analysis:

ABC's Rick Klein
Guardian America's Alexander Belenky
The Swamp's Lisa Anderson

More to be added as the evening drags on.

What do you know, my candidate endorsed Barack Obama. It's official then. There's no turning back.

Free State Outreach to Texas and Ohio Voters Before Democratic Debate

I am an undefined bit of fluff, a zygote in a swelling tide of democratic debate. Thoughts and opinions, what much do they matter coming from tiny insignificant me? Well, I do read, think, and have many years of serious legal training under my belt. For what it's worth, here are the thoughts swirling around in my muddled mind as America heads into tonight's face-off between Clinton and Obama at the University of Texas.

According to Bill, Texas and Ohio are his wife's last stand. You matter, wonderful people of the north and south, can't you see how much you matter? Bill hopes you will self-inflate, thereby carrying the little missus to certain victory. Can't help but focus on another famous Lone Star do-or-die battle cry, "Remember the Alamo," and think tonight's debate could go down in history as "Remember Obama's Show."

I never watch daytime TV. Too many too full of themselves talking heads. Too much distraction. Scouring the Internet for any sign of life outside the University of Texas, I am sorely disappointed. Desperate, I flip on the television, wasteland of last resort. The airwaves are crowded with a McCain lobbyist scandal. Impropriety denied. Huckabee angling for opportunity, yet mum about the rumors and what they may mean. What about the anticipated lines outside the Recreational Sports Center? Where is the streaming video when you need it?

Obama-mania hits Texas. Par-TAY! Can you dig it? Can't get a seat at the rec center? No problem. Party on.

It's not over until it's over. Texas and Ohio hold the fate of this election in their poll-driven hands. Wondering how it feels to have that kind of electoral power. The historic turning tide of the Potomac Primaries long since forgotten, pundits now hammer away at the nature of the election process and clout of big states. My sense of fundamental fairness wants the majority of states, even little states, to decide. My knowledge of America's election process says otherwise. Big states decide because they contain the majority of the population. That's understandable and acceptable. But, the issue becomes more problematic when examined from the preconceived notion of "one vote one voice." Nevertheless, a Texas vote counts more than a vote from the nation's capital because America is a democratic republic, not a utopian democracy. Try explaining that to my 16-year old and his eyes begin to glaze over. I hate my diminished capacity to elect the next president, but you'll never catch me moving to Texas. Just too darn hot.

There will be riots. So muse those in the know with 1968 Chicago visions dancing in their heads. Will CSN&Y reunite to compose another song?

Michelle Obama is not unpatriotic, contrary to popular sentiment. America needs to understand where Michelle Obama is coming from. Walk a mile in my shoes, walk a mile in my shoes. And before you can abuse, criticize and accuse, walk a mile in my shoes. The real story is the Clinton camp's outrageous attempt to sling mud at Michelle Obama. A wife's attempt to characterize the message of her husband's candidacy misses the mark. So what? Let's examine the other junior Senator's remarks about America, shall we? Better yet, let's examine voter reaction to Clinton-Politics-As-Usual.

Hillary's plagiarism attack against Obama had me in stitches after reading this manifesto. Movie lines direct from a Nicholson movie, the actor claiming Billary is the best man for the job, recently regurgitated as campaign rhetoric? Be still my heart. That's gold, Jerry, gold for a tiny celebrity politics blog bobbing about, trying to stay afloat against the relentless swell from atop the food chain.

Senator Hillary Clinton and Senator Barack Obama will participate in a Democratic presidential primary debate at The University of Texas at Austin tonight, February 21, 2008, from 7-8:30 p.m. CST.

Crowds Flock to Cult of Obama in Battle for Texas and Ohio

I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told. I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles such are promises. All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest...

If you believe in magic come along with me. We'll dance until morning, just you and me and maybe, if the music is right, I'll meet ya tomorrow so late at night...

I see the world, feel the chill. Which way to go, windowsill? I see the words on a rocking horse of time. I see the birds in the rain...

Yeah, but even if, honey, I told you daddy now. You wouldn't believe me anyway, no, no, no. Maybe you will now. I've changed a lot somehow. Let me do what I say...

With nods to Simon and Garfunkel, John Sebastian, Pearl Jam, and Janis Queen of R&B, in that order, themes of belief, hope, magic, and change have long held a special place in the hearts of Americans.

Now Barack Obama rides a wave of popular immortalization. Last night on Nightline, el Lay columnist Joel Stein spoke of the "Cult of Obama" as the program compared this political phenom to craze propelled Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, and yes teeny boppers, Hannah Montana. Can he live up to the hype? Can anyone?

I can't wait to see the line outside the Thompson Conference Center tomorrow. Maybe the masses will start lining up tonight.

Obama has racked up impressive victories throughout the land, a perfect 11-0 since the Super Tuesday Tossup. Billary continues to battle from against the ropes, badly bloodied and limping toward the Texas and Ohio primaries. FYI, Vermont and Rhode Island also head for the polls on March 4th, but no one seems much to care. To the larger amount of delegates goes the glory.

Meanwhile, official murmurs of "down for the count" begin to emanate from the press. Dare we dream this little shoestring budget of a blog is more widely read than imagined? I understand the whole "great minds think alike" thing, but lately, the amount of idea grabbing on the Internet is veritable cause for pause. More about this, ahem, another time.

As the press makes hay from Obama's roll in Wisconsin and Hawaii, I remain as confused as everyone else about the Washington State primary. This much is clear, however, yesterday's outcome is largely symbolic. Nary a word from the national news media on the subject which is why the general public thinks only two states voted. Pity. The outcome in Washington State comprises Obama's 11-0 tally, meaning the true number of successive wins deserves a serious do-over. One would think more journalists would care.

Getting back to themes of dreams, belief, once in a lifetime, directions, change, and political fluff, here's some flotsam from BETH Productions that kind of hits the spot. Election 2008 just cast Obama in the part of Troy. Casting for the part of Sharpay are still in negotiations.

...but if you get lost and lose yourself, what does it really mean...

Barack Obama Movement Begins in Maryland

If I had more computer knowledge, I could transfer pictures and recordings from Monday's Obama rally in College Park. Sadly, I have the technological knowledge of a gnat. In my last article, I had entered the press arena with the assistance of an unnamed reporter of a major newspaper, affectionately referred to as "Angel of Mercy."

The press area at a political rally is not as glitzy as one may think. Tripods everywhere. People milling about. No one directing traffic. Tables set up in rows for laptops and notebooks. No red carpet to follow. It's a real free for all.

Reporters must come armed with knowledge. It's not as if movers and shakers wear name tags. You're checking them out, they're checking out you. If the big leagues don't recognize you, they walk on by. Leon Harris of ABC News walked right on over to Angel of Mercy, smiled my way and said hello, but I had no idea who he was. That was the end of a prime opportunity. I knew he had clout, that much was abundantly clear, but I couldn't finesse my own cluelessness without giving myself away. I remember trying to play down my bag lady appearance and act professionally. People were watching. I'm sure they thought I was out of my league.

Out of nowhere, Elijah Cummings walked by, heads turned, and in that small section of the room the atmosphere palpably changed. Congressman Elijah Cummings, political powerhouse, former Chairman of Maryland's Legislative Black Caucus, first African-American Speaker Pro Tem in Maryland's General Assembly. Electrons became politically charged. Straight behind him walked Peter Franchot, the Comptroller and number three guy in Annapolis. Wow. Star struck, I guess.

They both seemed to look around for a familiar face. Finding none, they kept walking. But then Mr. Franchot caught my eye. We shook hands. Exchanged pleasantries. How I wish I had brought a pen and pad. My tiny electronic recorder would never do for an interview. Then again, landing in the press area was a complete fluke, manna sent from heaven. I couldn't blame myself for arriving unprepared.

"Mr. Franchot, there's a lot of dissension in Annapolis over the two remaining Democratic candidates, but you put your support behind Senator Obama early on," I winged it, "Why? What was it about this candidate that made you pick him?"

"That's an easy one," he responded. "I saw early on, back before his campaign caught fire that he had something the other candidates lacked."

"What was that, Mr. Franchot?" I truly wanted to know.

"His ability to bring people together and unite them in support of common ideals."

Perhaps. I eyed him skeptically. "What makes you believe that? What has Senator Obama done to make you believe he's a uniter?"

"By the fact that you're here. That I'm here. That the different faces in the audience are here. That's what he's done."

My goodness. The Comptroller was right. This wasn't politics as usual. This was a movement. A political movement in its truest purest sense. And we were part of it. I had nothing more to say except "Thank you."

"But I do feel sorry for Senator Clinton," he quickly added.

That one caught me by surprise. "You do? Honestly? Why?"

"Because she's also qualified and has worked very hard for the nomination. I'm sorry that I can't support both of them."

Okay, Mr. Franchot, you lost me there. "She-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named" does not deserve to be President of the United States. She lacks integrity, she lacks experience, she can't even successfully manage her own campaign, for cripes sake, and you think she's qualified to lead this country into the twenty-first century? Not buying it.

And Peter was gone.

I made my way back to Angel of Mercy as she interviewed an Obama campaign staffer. Without my own pad and pen, I was just a cheesy eavesdropping wannabe. Honestly, I didn't know what to do with myself. Should I walk around or hang on? I am not from the hanger-onners, although without Angel of Mercy, I could be toast. Then again, at this point, no one was checking credentials. Maybe I had passed the smell test. I cut the cord without ever saying goodbye or thank you. What a louse. I am extremely thankful, but horribe with goodbyes. She probably never gave it a second thought anyway. Besides, she has my card. Perhaps one day she'll read this article and know how truly grateful I am.

Reporters are a funny lot. They have egos. They're not nice to one another. They cut each other out for scoops. And then there are people like Angel of Mercy. Willing to lend a hand to a complete stranger. I am a staunch believer in God. There are no coincidences. She walked into my life at that point for a reason, and when there was no more need, she walked out. In my book, that's miraculous.

Milling about, I landed a spot center court about ten yards back from the stage. I will be able to see Senator Obama without the aid of glasses, although cell phone pictures will catch little to nothing of the action on stage. My son, unfortunately, has the camera. Too far away for good pictures, I'm afraid. Leaving the floor is out of the question because the rally could start any minute. Anwan Glover from The Wire has spoken and left the stage. Obama cannot be too far behind.

Out of boredom, I turn to the girl manning the tripod next to me. She is a junior at the University and reporter for Maryland News Line, a college journal. Here is the transcript of our interview:

Me: I'm here with Arelis, a junior at University of Maryland. What do you think about Senator Obama's campaign?

Arelis: It's one of the most exciting campaigns of the race. It’s the first time I've ever been able to vote in a presidential election, so I'm super excited about it. I’m just glad there’s a bunch of qualified candidates out there, although they’re all duking it out, which is hard.

Me: Is Obama the person to lead America?

Arelis: I’m a little wary of Obama because of the experience. I think Hillary could manage the political powerhouses a little better than he could, but he promises change with that Kennedy-like attitude, so I don’t know. We’ll see. I know a lot of people are looking towards him.

Yes they are. A funny sight comes into view as the quickie interview ends. It's a white guy in glasses wearing a homemade T-shirt with "I Called in Sick for Obama" plastered over the front. Too hilarious. Suddenly, everyone is taking pictures as the cameras roll. I motion him over.

Me: There's a shot going around the Comcast Center that’s drawing a lot of attention and I'm here with the person wearing "I Called in Sick for Obama." Sir, what is your name?

Daniel: Daniel Horowitz.

Me: What do you do, Daniel? Are you a student?

Daniel: I'm a science teacher in NE Washington, DC.

Me: What gave you the idea for that great T-shirt?

Daniel: I thought since it was a Monday morning half the people in here did call in sick, but no one has the guts to say it. So I thought I’d advertise it. Hopefully the picture won’t reach my principal. I'm thinking about making copies of the shirt to sell to friends.

Me: I would buy one.

Daniel: Thanks.

Me: Why call in sick to come to the Comcast Center? What would make you miss a day of work to be here?

Daniel: I'm here to support Barack Obama. I think he really is going to bring the change necessary to the country. Once in a lifetime, a candidate comes along who can bring Democrats, Republicans, and Independents together to create change and end the in-fighting in Washington. And I think Barack Obama is that candidate, so I’m here to support him and hear what he has to say.

Me: What has he done to make you think he can inspire change?

Daniel: Just look around at the crowd here today. We have every color, every age here together. They’re all inspired by what he has to say. I think what he’s done in the past, in Illinois, in the U.S. Senate, and also on the campaign trail ... not playing to the old race cards that past elections have crumbled under, like Jesse Jackson. I think that he is really speaking to a new generation that doesn’t see race and really wants to just see somebody bring change to the country.

Thank you, Daniel, for your apt description of Senator Obama's campaign. Thank you for putting into words what others have had difficulty articulating.

Politicians come and go. But once in a lifetime, a politician comes along who sparks a movement. Who not only says what people want to hear, but who also says what people can believe. These last three remaining presidential candidates, they all talk a good game. On paper, there is very little difference in their policies. The problem is politics as usual. The American people are sick and tired of the lies. Yes, tell us what we want to hear, that's all fine and good, but we don't trust any of them any more. We know what's going on behind the scenes, power hungry so-and-so's.

In that respect, Barack Obama appears different. We may not like who he is, or what he stands for, or his associates, it's true. The difference between him and the others, however, is he isn't hiding any of it. He isn't speaking out of both sides of his mouth. He isn't changing his position on the major issues. He's campaigning on who he is, on the positions he believes in, trying to unite us, trying to change the political landscape.

It's refreshing to see a Washington outsider unite so many different types of people behind one political philosophy. It's called a movement. And if Barack Obama is elected and does what he says he's going to do, it will also be historic.

Now there's something worth supporting.

This concludes the series of articles about the Obama rally at University of Maryland, College Park. I may figure out how to turn the recording of Obama's speech into a podcast for another article. I may even figure out how to transfer a picture from my cell phone to this blog without a necessary cable. If not, I will try to post a transcript of his speech with some commentary, but no promises. Stay tuned.

Meet the Press at University of Maryland Barack Obama Rally

Today's articles pick up where yesterday's left off. My 16-year old son and I are in College Park, Maryland, seeking a way inside the University of Maryland Comcast Center. Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama is scheduled to appear at 12:30 p.m.

"Where are you?" This must be my tenth text message in the past five minutes. Actually, I can't text that fast, but it sure seems that way. Futile attempts to reach my son become increasingly frustrating. Did my cell phone battery die? It beeps, I flip. Nada. What is going on? I'm getting a bad feeling about this like I never should have left that boy alone. Suddenly, the phone plays Sex and the City theme song.

"Where are you," I query rather loudly, not bothering to check whether it's him. I instinctively know. For some reason, I can barely hear myself, let alone hear anything coming out of this crappy phone. A faint crackle. Sounds like someone talking. Turn to the left. Better. I can make out a human voice.

"There's another entrance. I'll be inside in about two minutes," he says.

"Another entrance? Where?"

"Around front," he says, "Get here soon. I'm about to go in."

I have no idea where he's talking about. Then the signal dies for the umpteenth time. When I was a student here, there was no Comcast Center. Just agricultural farmland as far as the eye could see. It smelled so bad, you could only find people involved in agriculture sciences. Maybe there was another front of the building, but I had nothing to go on. It didn't make sense to backtrack along the ever expanding line, don't ask me why. I think the cold was starting to get to my brain.

As I cross the yellow tape dividing mere mortals from the top plaza entrance, I see Steely Gaze at the helm staring me down like I'm trying to pull a fast one. Maybe he wants to remind me, ma'am, that once I cross, I'm not allowed back. I get a sudden urge to punk the guy, but I'm too old for that kind of thing and besides, I have to find my son before he walks inside. I run past the colorful Testudo statue and make my way around the right side of the building. The other side of the parking lot comes into view.

This can't be right. Yet, I'm hoping against hope that it is like if I hope hard enough it will be so.

Nope. Clearly, this is the back of the building as there is no line of people in sight. Just one lonely campus policeman guarding a back entrance. I'm crushed but not defeated as I once again whip out my cell phone. This is getting to be a campus ritual. Not even a signal. Is the battery dead? I just charged the darn thing. Must be all the back and forth messaging.

"Um, officer, I really have a problem and I'm hoping you'll help me," I tell the nicer looking campus guard. Maybe the guy will have a heart. I begin with the whole sordid story. How we left late from Baltimore. How traffic stopped us from getting a good spot in line. How we started to get very cold. How the line wouldn't move. How my son and I became separated. How we weren't allowed inside together. How my cell phone didn't work. How my son nonetheless found a way inside. When I finished, I half expected the guy to let me through the guarded entrance out of pity. Instead, he handed me his cell phone. What a prince.

I reach my son, finally, but it's too late. He's already inside. In a way I'm relieved. Only have to look for a way in myself. Low and behold, I don't have to look long. There she appears luxuriously clothed, lovely lady in fetching high heels.

"Excuse me," she says pointing to the guard, "Is there a press entrance?"

"Around the corner," he responds, "There's a side door. You can get in there"

Voila. My ticket in. All I have to do is cozy up. But I look terrible. Hair askew and I'm wearing sweat pants and sneakers. On the other hand, what's the worse that can happen? She'll say no and I'll be no worse for the wear. Years in the courtroom taught me how to approach people. I give it my best shot.

"You're a reporter," I begin, "For what paper?"

She tells me. I ask her name and introduce myself like a fan seeking an autograph. Because the story ends well, I'm not allowed to reveal Angel of Mercy's true identity. I will only say I'm forever grateful and hope one day to repay her act of kindness. I hand her my card, a freebie from a rip-off site that identifies this blog so she won't think I'm some truly weird person. I look directly in her eyes and tell her I'm a blogger. Looking people straight in the eyes has always helped me connect, although the results, like with Steely Gaze, are not always positive.

This time I'm successful. She'll walk me inside as long as I'm not some kind of terrorist. I assure her I am not. I have no other agenda other than to witness this moment in history. She takes my response at face value. At the press entrance, she tells me to walk in back of her. I quickly comply. Enveloped by a warm glow until I spy Steely Gaze following us inside, I envision the bubble about to burst.

Miraculously, he passes. Who says there isn't a higher power? I let my friend at big newspaper do all the talking. She won't lie for me, but won't rat me out either. That's all I can ask. The guards search my small black bag, finding two sandwiches wrapped in tin foil and a banana. I hold my arms out for the metal detector wand as compliant as anyone can be. So this is what it's like to be press. I'm wide-eyed, taking it all in, trying to attract as little attention as possible. It works.

Angel of Mercy and I are both issued green tagged press passes. Trailing behind, I make small talk along the way. What does she report? How long has she been at the paper? Does she enjoy her job? When people in uniform question my presence, I flash the press pass and continue walking. Though I look like a bag lady, no one stops us. The guards look so harried. Yet, Angel of Mercy looks important, someone who knows how to take charge. The press pass is my ticket to ride and ride I do, mingling with the big leagues on the Comcast Center floor.

A text from my son. Magically, the cell phone has power. "I see you," it reads, "I'm in section 104."

"Meet me after outside," I text back. "I'm staying down on the floor."

Down here indeed. Is that Peter Franchot?

To be continued...

Barack Obama Political Rally at University of Maryland Comcast Center

Today's articles begin where yesterday's left off: in line at theUniversity of Maryland Comcast Center. My 16-year old son and I have braved the elements and callous humanity for a chance to see Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama.

Faces in the crowd:

Squat middle-aged African-American woman, huffing and puffing up the hill past the foot bridge...

Middle-aged redneck looking chubby white guy, complete with cowboy hat, long gray hair, beard and moustache...

Lanky Asian twenty-something guy, clean shaven and well groomed...

Suburban blonde and brown-eyed housewife-styled twenty-something white woman, three elementary school-aged children in tow...

Bulky bundled-up weather-worn elderly African-American guy, looking somewhat bewildered by the size of the line...

Smattering of Latino-looking guys and gals hanging together, college students probably, young and otherwise non-descript...

Tall thin white aging hippie throwback guy, long white hair gathered in a flowing freak flag...

Typical looking teenage and twenty-something college students, tons of them, all shapes, sizes, and colors...

White forty-something wall street looking guy, cell phone in his face, probably drives a beemer...

College professors, Prince George's and Montgomery Counties locals, University staff, reporters, documentary film makers, slices of America...

My heart beats faster as I scan each one. This is what it's all about. People from all walks of life coming together, believing in a common cause. Some of us are crazy for the messenger, some not so much, but we are all united in a similar quest for a new America. This isn't just a rally. It's a movement. A movement we can hopefully some day, one day look back upon, point, and realize this is where it all began.


My son's croc-clad feet start to go numb as we scramble for a way inside. We've been separated by gestapo campus police. To be continued...

University of Maryland Inches Toward Barack Obama

Continuing today's earlier article, my 16-year old son and I have trekked to College Park, Maryland for an audience with Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama. My son lets me leave him at the end of a very long line to determine the distance and our chances of getting inside.

I am a bad mother and a very bad person.

Not only have I left my 16-year old at the apparent end of an enormous line, I have also made my way past hundreds of others waiting in bitter cold for probably hours. I search in vain for campus police. None to be found, at least not in this neck of the woods. Having no idea how far away the front of the Comcast Center lies, I continue forward. Five, ten minutes at a fast pace and still no inkling. My thoughts return to my son. Should I return to him?

Instinct pushes me ahead. We have cell phones. At some point, we'll connect. Someone opens a passage through the adjacent parking garage. On the horizon, I glimpse the front steps. Not quite there, but the line moves more steadily. Still no one monitoring. Suddenly, I am torn. Blend in or go back. Hostile student eyes meet my gaze. I am clearly an outsider with no friends or bearings. Even with friends, I don't think these young people would understand. A cut is a cut, one less seat for those who arrived early. Just who do I think I am? Silent venom launches me forward, not back. Finally, I latch upon sympathetic eyes. A small group of students laughing and joking.

"I'm so sorry, but please understand," I plead. "There's something much more at stake. I have to see him. Can I pretend I'm with you?"

"No problem, sure, get in," they reply.

Yes! I hit pay dirt. But what about my son?

"Call him," they urge. "Tell him to go around the other way and join up with you here."

Roger Wilco. Out goes the call. And then the incomprehensible. I'm still trying to process it.

My son walks back where we came from, across the foot bridge, around to the front parking lot. Remember all the campus police who are nowhere to be found? We find them. They are crowded around the front plaza barring access to the line, yellow tape lining the perimeter. No one passes. Not even people meeting people in line. I trudge down the hill hoping to talk sense to them, no longer caring whether I lose sight of the sympathetic students. The cross bearers remain adamant. No one breaches the yellow tape.

"Please, officer, he's my 16-year old son. We've traveled all the way from Baltimore. He skipped school. Won't you let him come with me?"

I am a bad mother and a very bad person. What goes around is about to come around.

"No, ma'am, we can't," he responds with a steely gaze. "If we do it for you, we have to do it for everyone else who wants to bring another person into line."

"Pleeeeeze? Can't you make one tiny exception?"

"No."

"Just this once?"

"No."

"Okay, well how about this...let him take my place. I'll get out of line and he'll take my place. It's more important for him to see this candidate than it is for me. What about that?"

"No."

"Uh, you're joking, right?"

"No."

"Why not"

"No one crosses the yellow tape. We have orders."

"I don't understand." I search Steely Gaze for a flicker of humanity. "What could possibly be wrong with me getting out of line and him taking my place? A one for one swap. Come on."

"No."

"Do you know any other word besides 'no'?"

"How about this," Steely Gaze begins. "How 'bout you follow what I'm telling you, realize there will be no exceptions and stop wasting my time?"

Okay, then, be a complete and total idiot who follows orders without question. Leave no room for logical thinking outside the box. Let an innocent 16-year old miss out on a historic political appearance in the supposed Free State. It's all on your head moronic lockstep gestapo.

I reach for the yellow tape to strategize with my son.

"Cross that tape, ma'am, and you're not coming back."

Steely Gaze draws a line in the sand. There's no trace of humanity on his weather-beaten mug. Maybe if he'd stop calling me ma'am I could brainstorm an acceptable alternative. I know I'm aging, but does he have to rub it in?

My son and I move down opposite sides of the tape to converse privately. Campus monitors are within earshot as we quietly agree to fend for ourselves. I will call him when I get to the entrace. Maybe there's an unmonitored area he can cross. In the meantime, he should look for another way inside.

I am a bad mother and a very bad person. The pigeons have come home to roost.

To be continued...

Barack Obama Campaign Stops Traffic at University of Maryland, College Park

In a series of today's articles, I recount our brush with Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama. For the first time in my lifetime, Maryland's primary vote will matter. I bring my son along for the ride.

8:45 a.m. - Alarm set on wrong time. Stuck in Baltimore. Leave home about quarter to nine, prime rush hour. Cursing under my breath as we inch along I695. Finally, around 9:30 a.m., traffic breaks, allowing beeline to Parkway. As long as there are no major accidents, we should make it to College Park in plenty of time.

9:35 a.m. - Traffic is flowing nicely on I295. Respond to WCBM Tom Marr program request for Obama Democrats. Tom wants to know why Obama has distanced himself from his extended family. "Why don't we see them on the campaign trail," Tom wants to know. Probably for the same reason Bill Clinton kept his extended family off the campaign trail, Tom. They're tangential to the campaign. Perhaps embarrassing. Does anyone remember Roger Clinton antics? Tom tries to bait me with Greenpeace rhetoric. Not falling for it. Before I get a chance to laud Obama's energy platform, call breaks up. Thanks, AT&T.

9:45 a.m. - Debating Tom, a staunch Repiblican, causes me to miss exit. Wrong turn down Kenilworth Avenue. Luckily, a stopped policeman politely obliges request for directions. We quickly make it back to Beltsville exit leading into College Park, but traffic is backed up to exit. Suddenly sweating. Bitter cold outside. What should be five minutes down Route One somehow transforms into thirty minutes. So glad 16-year old son playing hookey to witness history is sound asleep in back seat. Continue silent flogging.

10:15 a.m. - Gnashing teeth and white knuckling steering wheel. Heart pounding. Literally. Will we make it in time? Comcast Center doors open at 10:30 a.m. How long is the line? Will we get inside? Trying to lighten up with Sirius '60s tunes, but no go. Cursing bad karma for not checking alarm time. Should have remembered moving alarm an hour ahead last Friday. Luckily, inner alarm woke me up around 7:20, but still had to drive youngest to school. Of all days for hubby to leave early. Probably didn't want to disturb my deep sleep. Making mental note of husband's kind consideration and lousy timing.

10:25 a.m. - Traffic slightly improves, but no time for parking competition. Ditch car in Jerry's Sub Shop parking lot. Wooded lot in back appears to lead directly to campus area of Comcast Center. Kid and I hit what appears to be the beaten path. Thorns. Branches. Ouch. Keep up. Oh no. Turn back. Big stream. Retreat. Son thinks I'm crazy, but follows along. We'll have to reach Comcast on foot.

10:35 a.m. - Huge line of people snakes from front of Comcast Center, disappearing behind adjacent parking garage. Yellow tape with guards cuts off those heading directly to steps from parking lot. "To the foot bridge," someone cries. To the left we go. Mobs of people search for line's end. Like sheep, we herd into a semblance of order. But no one is directing the ever increasing overflow.

10:50 a.m. - This will never do. Line is barely moving. In fifteen minutes, we've moved approximately twenty yards. How long is this line anyway? It seems to go on forever. Leave son in line as I forge ahead to find out. Man the cell phones.

To be continued....