Okay kids, sit down and shut up. The convention thus far is giving me a headache worse than the keg of Sam Adams we drank last night at La Boheme did. La Boheme, a Gentleman's Cabaret, touts itself as home to only the Sexiest Democrats, and they've won our unanimous seal of approval last night. I retired to their extremely comfy confines to nurse a bruised chest from the nightstick of a "Law Enforcement Professional" with my good friend The Mac, who was fresh from painting a mural on the side of the building.
I had been making my way over to see the mural when we witnessed several dozen cops running towards the Sheraton. Defying a "lawful order" to not cross the street, we moved ten feet and then jaywalked, moving around a small building towards the scene of the commotion. Upon reaching the steps of a neighboring office building, we saw a wall of mounted police blocking the street and protecting the backs of about 300 officers, who had completely surrounded what looked like 50-60 protestors on three sides backing them into a wall. They were then given the order to disperse, which seemed like a complete joke, as they were surrounded without an exit route, and the cops were not moving. About a hundred people had gathered on the backside of the police and were chanting several slogans, most of which kept coming back to "The Whole World is Watcing" and "Let Them Go!" This definitely spooked some police bot's whirring processor, as more officers came pouring in from all directions to hold back the swelling crowd. It was at this point that I was cross-checked in the chest like I played for the Pittsburgh Penguins while trying to help a photographer who had fallen off of the railing we were both standing on and had gotten his leg stuck in it. We were herded like the cattle we are off the steps of the building and back into the street, where I nearly backed into the Aurora police's Mobile Rescue Unit, or big-ass tank looking thing, complete with fully armed officers on the roof peeking out of the gun turret. This was when they decided to "disperse" the surrounded protestors with rubber bullets and mace cannons, which ended up looking like the worst mosh pit I've ever been in, without the comraderie of thrashing metalheads. I decided it was time for a beer and naked women.
Wondering aloud over comped beers, we were joined by renowned West Coast artists Sam Flores and David Choe, and we mused on whether the security organizers for the convention were smitten with the futuristic look of Robocop when they blew $18 million dollars on new equipment for the police. The streets are overrun with the Men in Black, and I mean thousands upon thousands of riot gear clad storm troopers waiting to pummel any dissent with the utmost prejudice. The cops are everywhere down here, and they are bored out of their skulls and itching for anything to do. Outside the front of the club last night, I saw seven officers arresting a drunk who kept slurring "Why is this necessary?" They have nothing to do, and nothing but time to do it. The "protests" have mostly been unorganized whimsical gatherings of anarcho-minded crust punks looking to piss off authority because of their dad issues and the leftover remnants of an era that waved good bye to both reality and effective protesting long ago. I feel in the days to come we are only going to see lackluster rallies designed more to make the participant feel good about themselves for being "anti-authoritarian"
and less about actually making a difference in the political arena. I am certain now that only the status quo will be protected, and freedom and justice are available only to those with a qualifying FICA score. The American Dream is on it's last legs and all the knuckleheads trying to dry-hump it back to life are not helping.
Case in point: The Convention Marketplace, or as I've taken to calling it, the Swap Meet of the Damned and Upper Median Income Level. There is nothing like seeing a family of Hawaiians slinging BBQ next to a stall of Marxists who are convinced that they can make a difference, if only they were actually listened to. Perhaps if they had a marketing plan like the rhinestone bejeweled denim Obama vests and teddy bear wholesalers sandwiched between "Princess" belts and 2 for $10 knockoff Gucci sunglasse vendors, they wouldn't be such a damn joke.
We all want to believe that our voices and opinions can be heard, that all is fair, that eventually they'll open the debates and let Ralph Nader in and he'll dazzle us with his Paul Tsongas/Kermit The Frog voiced wisdom and all will be right with America again. I got news for ya kiddo, we're all screwed. Whoever, "THEY" are, well, they're winning, and the machine like grace of the muted robots in the militaristic movements that are controlling downtown Denver right now are not going to be messed with. So when you're trying to fight back with common sense and logic, it's like watching a midget throw hay makers at Yao Ming, who's just holding him back by his head and laughing. This is the tragicomedy of the new American landscape. Better get used to being a good little barcode.
Tomorrow I'm gonna try and sneak into the "Free" Rage Against the Machine show, which is free for the 9000 people who got tickets, and then I've gotta run over to the really big party at the Manifest Hope gallery and finish my interview with Shephard Fairey, who just called me to say that he's out of jail after getting caught bombing his OBEY posters a little too close to downtown last night. Here's to all the hope and change they're cramming down our throats, I'm gonna chase mine with a beer.