Got through my performance and no one complained
So, yes, obviously I ended up voting. I know they say eighty percent of success is just showing up, but this is ridiculous.
It has been a long but worthwhile day. The drive to Worcester took about an hour; there was not a lot of traffic and some deer in a hayfield. We got to the DCU Center around nine-fifteen in the morning and![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
choco_frosh went off to climb Mount Wachusett while I participated in representative democracy. The initial protocols were much like a science fiction convention: I wandered through crowds of people who already had their nametags until I found the registration tables with their alphabetical signs, showed ID and spelled my last name for good measure, and was given my turquoise-blue alternate delegate's pass, which I then proceeded to carry around in my jacket pocket and flash at security like a badge since registration had run out of lanyards. The convention center itself was a cavernous space reminding me of high school science fairs, only with more in the way of stadium-sized video screens and inappropriate flashbacks to The Manchurian Candidate (1962). Seating for delegates and alternates was divided by district and I wasted five minutes scanning for people I knew in the wrong quadrant of the audience just because it had a sign reading "Second Middlesex." (Turns out that "Second Middlesex & Norfolk" is not the same thing at all.) I found my ward chair and one of spatch's radio drama colleagues and someone I hadn't seen since high school. The convention itself started around ten with the presentation of colors, the Pledge of Allegiance, and the National Anthem, which was more patriotic ritual in one place than I had seen probably also since high school. I still appear to be the only person within earshot who omits "under God," but I learned the pledge from my mother who learned it before the religion was inserted in 1954 and I am pretty sure what matters more than anything right now is "liberty and justice for all." People were constantly passing around slips of paper with proposed amendments to the state party platform and clipboards gathering signatures for other proposals. As an alternate rather than an actual delegate, I couldn't sign my name to any of the petitions, but no one stopped me from collecting amendment slips. I forgot to take notes. I was enjoying the show. And because I was wearing earplugs as usual in crowds and situations involving sound systems, I think it took me longer than it should have to realize around quarter of noon that the people all around me were suddenly shouting my name. The teller with her book of records (we had to register twice, once by QR code and once by three-ring binder) was looking for me. One of the delegates from my ward was a no-show. I was the first alternate. I had gotten a field promotion.
So I called several people enthusiastically and then I paid attention. There were very good speeches given by Setti Warren, Bob Massie, Jason Kander, Maura Healey, Elizabeth Warren ("Silence is no longer an option. Hairsplitting is no longer an option . . . It is time for real courage in this country"), and Ed Markey. There was nothing wrong with Joe Curtatone's speech ("Massachusetts needs to stick its thumb in the eye of the President's harsher, crueller vision") except that it came late in the afternoon at a point when whole districts of delegates had started hollering "Vote! Vote! Vote!" like the world's most politically responsible fraternity. I am amazed and honestly delighted that the real, adult, world-changing political process involves—at least at the Massachusetts state level—a lot of shouting and leaping to one's feet. Initial votes were taken by shouts of "Aye" or "Nay," after which it went to a standing vote and a headcount if there was not an obvious winner by decibels. Two or three times we had to vote whether to suspend the rules of the convention in order to vote on a proposed amendment that fell outside the scope of the state platform and once we had to vote on whether we should reconsider a prior motion in order to vote on whether to suspend the rules of the convention in order to vote on the proposed amendment, "which the chair does not recommend," the relevant official said dryly. It pleases me that I got to vote not just to adopt the state party platform as it was developed over the series of statewide hearings held this spring (of which I attended the nearest in April), but on some specific issues important to me: refugees, gender and race, disability, criminal justice reform, mental health, student debt, climate justice, the Safe Communities Act. I started fading during the charter amendments due to the whole seven-in-the-morning-hour-of-sleep thing, but Rob's colleague almost certainly kept me functional until then by getting me a roast beef wrap and a second bottle of water during Warren's speech. It helped that I found in the crowd someone I hadn't seen since the local caucus in March when I got elected as an alternate in the first place. I made it to the closing arguments and fled. Many of my fellow delegates were doing the same. I hadn't expected to acquire quite so much swag in the process of doing my civic duty: I have three more buttons on my computer bag than I left the house with this morning. (My favorite came courtesy of the Worcester Democratic City Committee and reads "Get Off Your [Democratic logo].") I even finished the day with a lanyard, courtesy of a passer-by who'd ended up with an extra. Choco Frosh really capped the experience: on returning from Wachusett, he had contrived to park directly behind a car displaying, I have no idea why, but I rejoice in it forever, an artichoke bumper sticker.
We went to Mamaleh's for dinner. I got home to find the new shirt I had hoped to wear to the convention had arrived sometime during it. My plans at the moment involve either starting the second serial of Sapphire & Steel or passing out.
I really think I should see how far I can take this career of accidentally backing into public office. I recognize that the nightmare endpoint of walking off the street and into government is our present administration, but if the Twilight Zone happened tomorrow and I got catapulted into some kind of Claudius setup, I am almost confident that the worst I could be is incompetent and working overtime to learn on the job, not complacently and opportunistically evil. Just as I was finishing this post, I got word of 45's exquisitely sensitive response to the terrorist attack in London. Really, I promise, it's not that hard to express sympathy. You know who could do it? All of the people I heard speak today. Everyone in the audience. My cats. Me. An artichoke. I can't believe I'm developing political ambitions out of spite. Well, it works for writing.
So that was the Democratic State Convention. I am so very glad I didn't sleep through it. On to 2018.
It has been a long but worthwhile day. The drive to Worcester took about an hour; there was not a lot of traffic and some deer in a hayfield. We got to the DCU Center around nine-fifteen in the morning and
choco_frosh went off to climb Mount Wachusett while I participated in representative democracy. The initial protocols were much like a science fiction convention: I wandered through crowds of people who already had their nametags until I found the registration tables with their alphabetical signs, showed ID and spelled my last name for good measure, and was given my turquoise-blue alternate delegate's pass, which I then proceeded to carry around in my jacket pocket and flash at security like a badge since registration had run out of lanyards. The convention center itself was a cavernous space reminding me of high school science fairs, only with more in the way of stadium-sized video screens and inappropriate flashbacks to The Manchurian Candidate (1962). Seating for delegates and alternates was divided by district and I wasted five minutes scanning for people I knew in the wrong quadrant of the audience just because it had a sign reading "Second Middlesex." (Turns out that "Second Middlesex & Norfolk" is not the same thing at all.) I found my ward chair and one of spatch's radio drama colleagues and someone I hadn't seen since high school. The convention itself started around ten with the presentation of colors, the Pledge of Allegiance, and the National Anthem, which was more patriotic ritual in one place than I had seen probably also since high school. I still appear to be the only person within earshot who omits "under God," but I learned the pledge from my mother who learned it before the religion was inserted in 1954 and I am pretty sure what matters more than anything right now is "liberty and justice for all." People were constantly passing around slips of paper with proposed amendments to the state party platform and clipboards gathering signatures for other proposals. As an alternate rather than an actual delegate, I couldn't sign my name to any of the petitions, but no one stopped me from collecting amendment slips. I forgot to take notes. I was enjoying the show. And because I was wearing earplugs as usual in crowds and situations involving sound systems, I think it took me longer than it should have to realize around quarter of noon that the people all around me were suddenly shouting my name. The teller with her book of records (we had to register twice, once by QR code and once by three-ring binder) was looking for me. One of the delegates from my ward was a no-show. I was the first alternate. I had gotten a field promotion.So I called several people enthusiastically and then I paid attention. There were very good speeches given by Setti Warren, Bob Massie, Jason Kander, Maura Healey, Elizabeth Warren ("Silence is no longer an option. Hairsplitting is no longer an option . . . It is time for real courage in this country"), and Ed Markey. There was nothing wrong with Joe Curtatone's speech ("Massachusetts needs to stick its thumb in the eye of the President's harsher, crueller vision") except that it came late in the afternoon at a point when whole districts of delegates had started hollering "Vote! Vote! Vote!" like the world's most politically responsible fraternity. I am amazed and honestly delighted that the real, adult, world-changing political process involves—at least at the Massachusetts state level—a lot of shouting and leaping to one's feet. Initial votes were taken by shouts of "Aye" or "Nay," after which it went to a standing vote and a headcount if there was not an obvious winner by decibels. Two or three times we had to vote whether to suspend the rules of the convention in order to vote on a proposed amendment that fell outside the scope of the state platform and once we had to vote on whether we should reconsider a prior motion in order to vote on whether to suspend the rules of the convention in order to vote on the proposed amendment, "which the chair does not recommend," the relevant official said dryly. It pleases me that I got to vote not just to adopt the state party platform as it was developed over the series of statewide hearings held this spring (of which I attended the nearest in April), but on some specific issues important to me: refugees, gender and race, disability, criminal justice reform, mental health, student debt, climate justice, the Safe Communities Act. I started fading during the charter amendments due to the whole seven-in-the-morning-hour-of-sleep thing, but Rob's colleague almost certainly kept me functional until then by getting me a roast beef wrap and a second bottle of water during Warren's speech. It helped that I found in the crowd someone I hadn't seen since the local caucus in March when I got elected as an alternate in the first place. I made it to the closing arguments and fled. Many of my fellow delegates were doing the same. I hadn't expected to acquire quite so much swag in the process of doing my civic duty: I have three more buttons on my computer bag than I left the house with this morning. (My favorite came courtesy of the Worcester Democratic City Committee and reads "Get Off Your [Democratic logo].") I even finished the day with a lanyard, courtesy of a passer-by who'd ended up with an extra. Choco Frosh really capped the experience: on returning from Wachusett, he had contrived to park directly behind a car displaying, I have no idea why, but I rejoice in it forever, an artichoke bumper sticker.
We went to Mamaleh's for dinner. I got home to find the new shirt I had hoped to wear to the convention had arrived sometime during it. My plans at the moment involve either starting the second serial of Sapphire & Steel or passing out.
I really think I should see how far I can take this career of accidentally backing into public office. I recognize that the nightmare endpoint of walking off the street and into government is our present administration, but if the Twilight Zone happened tomorrow and I got catapulted into some kind of Claudius setup, I am almost confident that the worst I could be is incompetent and working overtime to learn on the job, not complacently and opportunistically evil. Just as I was finishing this post, I got word of 45's exquisitely sensitive response to the terrorist attack in London. Really, I promise, it's not that hard to express sympathy. You know who could do it? All of the people I heard speak today. Everyone in the audience. My cats. Me. An artichoke. I can't believe I'm developing political ambitions out of spite. Well, it works for writing.
So that was the Democratic State Convention. I am so very glad I didn't sleep through it. On to 2018.
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Was this on whether or not to grant General Washington's request that the entire Rhode Island militia wear matching uniforms?
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Oh, good God.
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Nine
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Whoo!
Thank you for representing me so ably. I feel I'm in safe hands.
Nine
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You're welcome! (Although strictly speaking since you live in Cambridge you're represented by one of the delegates there, but depending on the ward it might have been the guy I hadn't seen since high school.)
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Nine
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Hey, it's a way better motivation than many folks seem to have. And you're thoughtful, smart, and compassionate, which is a winning combination in my book.
Does today's field promotion extend to further responsibilities, or was it specifically for the convention?
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Thank you. I appreciate it. (That sounds stiff, but I mean it.)
Does today's field promotion extend to further responsibilities, or was it specifically for the convention?
I need to find out! I assumed it was a one-shot deal, but then people were talking about seeing me at future events and I was warned that my phone might start ringing off the hook as the Democratic candidates for governor start trying to woo me, so I think I should probably ask my ward chair.
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Thank you!
(It is possible that I described events badly, having been awake for hours on very little sleep. Is there anything I can try to explain better?)
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This is why the handbook of the revolution is not, as you may have thought, Marx's Das Kapital but Citrine On Chairmanship.
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The chair had a sense of humor, which seemed to be essential.
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I am, however, very amused by the 'get off your....' button!
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I think it is extremely relevant right now!
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Also, an awful lot gets done out of spite and "I'll show them!" The question is, always, what you do with that motivation. Walking off the street and into government sounds like the present administration, but it also sounds a bit like the idea that "nobody who wants to be president should under any circumstances be allowed to." A Claudius, or a Gerald Ford, looks very good like now. (Ford may be the only president of the United States who didn't actively want the job; I gather that his real desire was Speaker of the House, and Jimmy Breslin claimed that Ford accepted the vice presidency in part because it came with a solid pension.)
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Thank you, and you're welcome!
Walking off the street and into government sounds like the present administration, but it also sounds a bit like the idea that "nobody who wants to be president should under any circumstances be allowed to."
The thing I find hilarious about this entire situation is that in January, at
A Claudius, or a Gerald Ford, looks very good like now. (Ford may be the only president of the United States who didn't actively want the job; I gather that his real desire was Speaker of the House, and Jimmy Breslin claimed that Ford accepted the vice presidency in part because it came with a solid pension.)
I don't think I knew that. And he didn't even get to be Speaker of the House. That's weirdly tragic.
Have you read Katherine Addison's The Goblin Emperor (2014)? Context here, if not.
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Thank you!
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You're welcome! I had no idea when I walked in, either. Reading the rules of the convention totally did not prepare me for all the standing up and down.
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You're welcome! It was worth it.
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Also, too wild about the artichoke bumper sticker!
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Thank you! Now I just have to figure out how to be part of choosing the next Democratic candidate for governor. (Right now, between Setti Warren and Bob Massie, it's a tough choice. My mother says the obvious solution is for them to campaign on the same ticket.)
Also, too wild about the artichoke bumper sticker!
I consider it a pure gift form the universe.
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Thank you!
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Thanks for helping to uphold democracy!
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Oh, cool. Where from?
Thanks for helping to uphold democracy!
You're welcome! I'm feeling very protective of it lately!
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Thank you! I'm really happy to be able to.
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Yay democracy and you participating in it.
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*checks convention packet*
"Except as these Rules otherwise provide, the Convention shall be governed by the most recent edition of Robert’s Rules of Order, as most recently revised."
IT GOT BETTER.
Yay democracy and you participating in it.
Thank you!
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You're welcome!
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It was all of these things! I was really glad to have been there.