Maybe I am just like my father, since he was hardly ever satisfied. He held a lot of standards, sometimes they were outrageously high. He was a frustrated political activist and so am I. One time -way long ago- the government of Trinidad and Tobago convened a Commission of Inquiry into possible subversive political activities (and elements) on both islands; my dad was one of many targets. In the end they deemed him a “clever intriguer” amongst many things; but he wasn’t incarcerated; thank God. I thought of my dad on the first day of my first trip to Denver, Colorado -for the Democrat’s convention. He could always see through political phonies. It has always been tough for me to attend conventions -both here and back there- and that’s why I am never really excited about going. But I go nonetheless; I often wonder why: especially when I am like a fish out of water whenever I go.
I got to Denver around 2:00 a.m. on Monday morning last, and couldn’t find transportation to my hotel. You see, the DNCC placed me more than an hour’s train ride from the convention: some reward for the one who many say is New York City’s top blogger; don’t you think? If only it were true; then I would get some respect; no? Maybe this was just back-handed punishment for the many attacks I have laid on electeds (especially the black ones) in the past; payback is a bitch isn’t she?
By the time my plane touched down, I needed a meal, a shower and some TLC (tender loving care). I missed my home already; you see, my “girls” (my daughter and her mom) treat me like royalty most times/lol. I am generally the king of my castle; here I could have settled for White Castle: and about a dozen of their lil square cheeseburgers. There were very few people around, and most seem to be as ignorant as I was, relative to transportation.
I called the hotel to find Gatemouth; his phone kept ringing like the one in the song: “By the time I get to Phoenix”. At Denver’s airport, shuttles stopped running after 11:00 p.m. on Sunday nights. It had been nearly twelve hours since I had left my house; there was a delay at JFK airport, and I had to “in-transit” through Phoenix, Arizona. I was tired. My six foot and one inch frame, plus my long legs which got cramped while seated on those non-roomy planes, had left me feeling like a pretzel. Phoenix was 108 degrees hot when we landed. Do you know that you pay for blankets, pillows, food and drinks on airplanes now? Soon they will be making you pay to use their tiny-assed bathrooms. I can’t wait for that innovative move!
Okay; so I wasn’t in the best of moods when I landed. I fly a lot, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I love sitting in airplanes. Once I don’t get a window seat I am usually somewhat peeved.
I called the hotel again; this time I got Gatemouth. When I explained my situation, he was no help. His exact words were: “you are fucked”. Gate is a funny dude, and he was really helpful later on and throughout the convention (beyond that night/lol). He helped organize me, along with helping my two friends who eventually joined me in Denver (from Maryland and Louisiana). Yvette Clarke was also quite helpful; the congresswoman got one of my friends a ticket for the last night’s proceedings -when Barack Obama accepted the nomination. I think one of assembly member Hakeem Jeffries’s friends (or maybe it was assembly member Kevin Camara), used the ticket eventually. By the end of that night we had two extra tickets amongst the three of us; the Louisiana delegation came through, and other things happened in positive ways.
That morning at the Denver airport, I cut a deal with an Iranian-born van-driver in typical island-boy style. I had less than ten dollars on me. He had a hand-held device that took credit cards. I held my breath for a second or two until the card went through for sixty dollars. I gave him my last bit of cash as a tip. He had to use the computerized navigational system to find the hotel; talk about boondocks. He got lost a few times. I finally checked in around 4:00 a.m. And yet they still charged me for Sunday; despite the fact that the only room we reserved was already being used by Gatemouth. Mine was a totally new room (reservation).
I never slept that night. I took two showers within three hours since I was sticky and hot despite the air-conditioned room. I did some reading in the lovely one bedroom suite I got; one that was similar to Gatemouth’s. Later that morning we went to the New York delegation’s breakfast. It was a nightmare for me. I saw folks who hate my guts (as a journalist/blogger), and most of them had to pretend to acknowledge me -because I made sure I called them out. It was kinda weird.
The New York delegation stayed right in the thick of things at the Sheraton Hotel -in downtown Denver; they were within walking distance of near everything. Too many of them were dressed up like mannequins; how ironic. They all seemed to have forced smiles on their faces; or was that their way of greeting me?
I walked around like a bag-lady: pens, notebooks, maps, cologne, tooth brush, toothpaste, baby-oil, chap stick, and many other necessary items -including some John McCain condoms (true) which I had no intention of using (thank you very much Planned Parenthood/lol).
The press list found my name on it, and that allowed me to obtain a press button. With this button (plus my press passes), I could sit with the New York delegation -on the floor of the convention (supposedly). It also allowed me access to media facilities and events, all over the thriving city. I saw Rachel Maddow (MSNBC) on my second day: that helped make my week. The problem was that I had to alternate days on the floor with Gatemouth; at the end of the week, he got three days on the floor and I only got two/lol. So much for the myth that I am an intimidating figure. I am a pussycat; a pushover. I am a certified nice-guy; ask Gatey.
At the breakfast I saw too many electeds from New York, who are nothing less than dismal failures. I saw too many electeds who are clueless, idea-less and lost; all at the same time. And we wonder why the average voter is frustrated and apathetic both at the same time.
I saw lots of people who only got jobs for their friends, relatives and cronies, and not for those qualified and capable of doing the job(s) at hand. And we wonder why New York is in the mess it’s in. I saw those whose involvements in politics are ostensibly for reasons of self-aggrandization and not public service. I saw those who were totally unfit for public office, and others totally unqualified. Some of them cannot think, walk straight, analyze things, talk and chew gum: all at the same time. And we wonder why we are the highest taxed state in the union. And we wonder why only one black male in four would graduate from high school. And we wonder why we have been losing population for decades. Thank God for immigrants (including the undocumented aliens); otherwise New York’s population would have never grown over the past quarter-century. I saw many elected officials who have no clue as to what public policy truly means.
This state has been in trouble for eons, and beyond the black-slapping, the schmoozing, the eating and drinking partiers, and the lofty adjectives spewed on compatriots by those podium-loving failures, we are witnessing too many people in the real trenches of life experiencing real hard times in New York (both city and state). Maybe I am just like my father: he too, was hardly ever satisfied about things political in nature.
I saw elected officials who don’t seem to understand that the decisions they sign off on in Washington, Albany and in City Hall, have an adverse impact on the lives of the John Legend people; and on the lives of the Sly Stone people: the ordinary people and the everyday people.
I saw electeds who should have long been gone and retired, but instead, they still try to mix it up: despite the weakness of their present power-punches. I saw politicians in need of a political Viagra-Cialis-Levitra cocktail, in hopes of curing their impotencies (especially the black ones; despite the myths of black-male virility). The black community metastasizes while they ALL snooze.
I am glad it was a breakfast and not a dinner. You see, if it were a dinner we would have been eating steak, but at this breakfast we ate eggs; there is a difference. And that difference highlights what’s missing in New York’s politics: the ability to adjust our thinking after years and years of political failures. When we ate eggs at that breakfast, it meant that the chickens were still alive; but had it been a dinner and had we eaten steak: it would have meant that the cows were dead. New York’s elected officials need to stick to eggs for a very long time; they need to leave steaks alone: they have killed too many cash cows with irresponsible budgets over the years. One of these days they will all choke on one single fucking steak dinner.
Stay tuned in folks; I want to tell you about my night in bed with the New York delegation. It was the night that Hillary Clinton addressed the convention.