Day 2 started entirely too early. The previous night I had agreed to attend Mike Stark’s panel on how to get on conservative talk shows. So around 7:45 (having just gotten to sleep at around 2:30 a.m.) I make my way down to the lobby. I noticed more of that ceiling spackle had fallen. This coupled with the fact that I inadvertently yanked my bathroom towel bar off the wall led me to believe that the entire hotel was falling apart. Breakfast for Day 2 consisted of a Snickers bar and one of my seemingly ever present Diet Cokes.
I got down to the meeting room, and not at all to my surprise Mike was running late. I figured he would be. I don’t think he left the Clark party until 3:30 a.m. About 8:05 or so Mike made it down and began the first ever Rush Limbaugh Call Seminar. Anyone who ever called into Rush’s show to disagree would always be accused by Rush of having attended a DNC seminar on how to get on the show. Like most of Rush’s boogeymen, I doubt this one ever really existed. As defined by Rush, these seminars taught attendees to tell the screener you’re a big fan and then switching to attack mode once you’re on the air. The on-air advice was basically to filibuster, spewing as much propaganda as you could before Rush cuts your mic.
Mike’s seminar did nothing of the sort. Here was Mike’s advice in a nutshell.
1) Hit redial a lot
2) Respect the screener, and be honest about why you called
3) Make sure you know the subject you’re talking about in detail
4) Be at your computer so you can Google stuff while you’re on hold
5) Maintain a respectful tone with the host—don’t get flustered
Wow! That’s some pretty nefarious shit right there! No wonder Rush always warned us about these “Seminar Callers.” I know what the ditiots are going to say. “You just said ‘be honest,’ but Mike lies about his identity! HA! In your FACE, lefty!” That’s why I said be honest about WHY you called and not who you are. There’s no reason for the average caller to use a fake name. I’d call myself ‘Jim from Memphis’ if I were to ever get through. But Mike’s kind of an exception to the rule. Mike calls a lot, and as such most screeners aren’t going to let ‘Mike from Albany’ on the air. To a certain extent I understand where this comes from. If you have the same caller every day then he’s not a caller anymore, he’s a recurring guest. I could also understand if he dropped a lot of f-bombs or otherwise made himself overtly offensive or inarticulate. He’s not, though. He’s actually a very interesting caller who does a really good job of articulating the ‘real’ liberal argument as opposed to Rush’s straw man. Ultimately that’s the real reason they don’t take calls from Mike in Albany--because they don’t like Mike in Albany. That’s why I call this one a ‘fair ball’ for Mike.
After Mike’s panel was done I went to see the “Outing Valerie Plame” panel. This story has always pissed me off. I don’t care if it was a Republican or a Democrat who did it, you burn a CIA agent and you should fry. I had a really aggravating discussion about this with my dad about this after I got back…I’ll get into that a little later.
The panel ended, and I returned to my Murphy bed for a little siesta. I woke up hungry, and, as I do every time I go to Vegas, I went over to the Hilton to eat at the Star Trek Experience. I know! I’m sorry! Here we were trying to portray ourselves as something other than a big Star Trek convention of bloggers, and I go over and eat at the Star Trek restaurant. Look, all I’m going to say is the Romulan Ale is fantastic, as is the Wrap of Kahn. KAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNN!
So I’m a dork. Don’t like it, read another blog. !8)
After lunch I went to the Meta panel discussion. I had a special reason for wanting to attend this particular discussion group—I had no idea what ‘meta’ meant. I’d always wondered, and I figured someone would tell me if and when it became important for me to know. But I couldn’t wait anymore. I HAD to know what a ‘meta’ diary was. Who is this ‘meta’ Jesus? And by doing what I do, do I make him cry? For a while it seemed I would never know. They had free wireless internet access at the conference (natch), and I got distracted by checking into stuff from my day job. I wasn’t paying attention to the discussion, and by the time I looked up they’d already defined ‘meta.’ Damn it! I guess I was never meant to know! (Actually, Jeffrey Feldman explained it to me later that day—blogging about blogging).
After the Meta panel I had to go back up to my room. My afternoon schedule was a little hectic. I was supposed to do a photo shoot for the unConventional book at 4:00. Then at 4:15 I was scheduled to be on the John McIntire show in Pittsburgh via the phone in my room. Then at 5:00 I was supposed to be on the Majority Report with Sam Seder. I wound up showing up a little early for the photo shoot hoping to get that out of the way so I could be a little more relaxed when I got to my room. I still get really nervous before going on the radio and need a little time to center myself beforehand.
The folks at the photo suite could not have been cooler! I walked in, they let me know what was going to happen, and had me sign a release. The release was something of a landmark moment as the line I was signing was labeled “model signature.” Add another name to my personal pantheon of ridiculous labels—Jim Derych, “Celebrity Author” and “Male Model.”
The photographer did an un-freaking-believable job. I do not photograph well. I have one ‘look’ that I give the camera, and I don’t mean that in a Derek Zoolander kind of way. I don’t have one look that I can subtly turn into a bunch of different looks. I just have my big, dopey smile and that’s it. But she really took some amazing candids given how little she had to work with.
While she’s taking pictures a guy walks into the room who for some reason I don’t recognize. Other folks seem to be excited that he’s here, and my little session stops briefly. The guy starts waving his hands saying “no, no, don’t stop for me. He was here already. I’m just stopping by to say ‘hey.’” He walks over to me, extends his hand and says “Hi. I’m Joe Wilson.” Um…Hi Joe Wilson…I’m nobody, really. I actually can’t resist the urge to say something stupid, so I say “I’ve heard a lot about you…I’ve heard even more about your wife!” Ba-dum-bump. Mercifully Graciously, he laughed. Joe was in the room for maybe 2 minutes, but in that time he completely destroyed this ‘arrogant asshole’ persona that the Right tries to frame him with. He was totally nice and totally personable in a private setting where assholes tend to be assholes.
Jumping out of chronology for a moment, after I got back I shared this story with my dad, leading with the fact that I had met Joe Wilson. “What, you mean that guy who outed his own wife?” It was such an unbelievable statement that I had no idea how to respond to it. It was so wrong on so many levels that I was briefly struck dumb. “Wh… how… WHAT!?” In dad’s world (shaped, as you may already know, by the right-wing noise machine) apparently “everyone knows” that Joe had a bone to pick with Cheney, so he leaked his wife’s name to the media and subsequently tried to frame the White House for it. This comment came at a bad time. I had an appointment in 15 minutes, and it was probably going to take me at least an hour just to get dad back to within sight of reality’s horizon. It means I’ll have more work to do later, but I had to let it go with nothing more than a “everything you seem to know about Joe Wilson is wrong.”
Back to Vegas. I left the photo shoot and returned to my room where I waited for John McIntire’s show to call. He was looking for a little YearlyKos recap, which I was happy to provide. By this point I was really in awe about how big the convention had become, and I was happy to spread the word. I was on John’s show for about 30 minutes or so. I kept repeating Markos’ theme of “people powered politics,” and how we were witnessing a rebirth of the Democratic Party. I talked about how in Memphis a grassroots movement sprung up to throw out the old regime that had been running the Shelby Democratic Party for generations (and like most regimes, had gotten a little fat, dumb, and happy), and about how the same thing had happened in Louisville.
We only took one call while I was on the air, but it was a telling one. It was from someone who was a higher-up with the Pittsburgh Democrats (John’s show airs in Pittsburgh), and he was…well, let’s just say he was not pleased. In his opinion this grassroots rebellion could only lead to less effective Democratic leadership as we threw out experienced pols in favor of less experienced ideologues. Pretty much a standard pro-establishment answer. I don’t know anything about local politics in Pittsburgh. The guy may have a point. But I’m more likely to believe the old Jefferson quote about the need for the tree of liberty to be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots (or tyrants, whichever the case may be).
After that I went back downstairs to the Air America studio suite for what I thought was going to be a panel discussion, but what became me and Gina on the air with Sam.
I have to do a little time traveling again, because I meant to write about this weeks ago and I never did. When I was doing my signing in New York City, Sam had me on the Majority Report with him and Janeane. I was on for two segments, and it has definitely been a Top 3 moment for me on the book tour (possibly even still #1…just waiting for YearlyKos stuff to finish sinking in). About a month earlier I had done my only other ‘in studio’ appearance on the Jim Bohannon show. I enjoyed it, and Jim was a very gracious host, but we largely sat in silence during the commercial breaks. There was very little (if any) personal interaction aside from the obligatory “how was your flight?” stuff. As such I kind of expected Sam and Janeane to treat me like something from the Antique’s Roadshow on PBS. I was something to be talked about, not to, in an attempt to ascertain it’s value. Some day I’m sure I’ll get tired of my preconceptions being so wrong.
Sam and Janeane were great! Unbelievably great! Both were engaging both on and off the air. So much so that I don’t even remember which stuff everybody heard and which stuff we said during commercials. Sam had clearly read my material and asked some great questions, and Janeane really put me at ease by being very easy to talk to (She also bucks the radio trend of speaking into the suspended or stationary microphone and literally does the show with a handheld mic like she’s doing standup). During breaks Janeane and I were able to kvetch about our respective dittohead dads (Carmine Garofalo and my dad could have been politically separated at birth). For the record, Janeane is uncomfortably attractive. On the Chowderhead Scale that puts her one step above “Wicked Retarded Hot.” I could never really tell from TV or film if she was ‘sexy’ or just ‘cute.’ She’s neither. She’s really, really hot. Angelina in her prime hot. Not that Sam is ugly or anything. Maybe in relation to Janeane, but…look, if I were so inclined, I’m sure I would find Sam to be attractive as well. I’m in enough trouble already at this point. I’d better get back to Vegas.
Sam inexplicably agreed to have me back on the air. Gina walked in at the same time, and was reluctant to accept Sam’s offer to be on the radio. Fortunately Sam and I were able to twist her arm and get her on the air to give her some richly deserved kudos. I was especially proud of Gina because she’s from Memphis (which, in case you didn’t know, is where I live). We went to rival high schools, and are about the same age. Here we were, a couple of Memphis kids in Vegas trying to change the world. Gina was a natural on the air, and the three of us had a great time. They had beer. That helped.
With the media appearances finally out of the way for the day, I joined Jeffrey Feldman, and two other folks (again, feel free to identify yourselves below) for dinner. Fed up with the crap hole dining conditions of the Riv, we went to a ‘real’ casino—The Wynn. Lots of folks are blown away by the Wynn, but frankly I just don’t get it. The thing cost billions of dollars, and other than having a really high ceiling I just can’t figure out where all that money went. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice. It’s just not “billions of dollars” nice. I’m thinking it must’ve been built by Halliburton. We ate at an Asian fusion restaurant named “Red.” The food was fine, but it was just laying the groundwork for the two parties that were left on the agenda—Mark Warner’s Stratosphere shindig, and Maryscott O’Conner’s party over at Circus Circus.
Much has been written about the Mark Warner party. Was he trying to buy our vote? Was he just showing that the blogosphere is legitimate now? Should we be excited? Should we be mad? Here’s my take. I had fun. Someone else paid for it. I know as much about Mark Warner now as I knew before the party—hardly anything. Consensus seemed to be that Mark was a nice guy, but a fairly conservative Democrat. If that means he’s socially conservative he could buy me a Lamborghini and I wouldn’t vote for him. I’m certainly not going to be swayed by a couple of drinks and a nice view. But who cares about WHY he threw the party. I’d rather talk about the party itself!
It was a Friday night in Vegas, and we had the entire Stratosphere to ourselves! Well, okay, we didn’t have the casino level on the ground floor, but everything up there at the top? That was our playground for the night. Mike Stark was there, and we started making the rounds. The observation level of the Stratosphere is basically like walking around inside a big donut, so we started walking the circle to see what we could see. The first think I saw was the martini bar. It was one of about 8 bars we found walking around, all of them open and paid for. Food, too. Sushi, carving stations, sandwiches, and the now famous chocolate fountain (Little known fact: Byron York was caught trying to dip his balls in it). There was “entertainment” as well which included a couple of guys doing the Blues Brothers schtick, and the worst Elvis impersonator I’ve ever seen (keep in mind I’m from Memphis. We execute bad Elvis impersonators). Basically it was like a baht mitzvah for one of Spielberg’s kids.
What especially interested Mike was the ability to ride all those rides up top for free. Most of them involve dangling you over the side of the hotel and centrifuging you in some fashion. I’ve done them all before, and the combination of spinning around at elevation and the amount of alcohol I’d already had would’ve meant doom for those walking the streets 1100 feet below.
We ran into Markos along the way, who introduced me to two reporters—one from Time magazine and one from the Weekly Standard. I was immediately transported back to my days as a Young Republican. Both were young, and both looked like they were above it all. In trying to look like dispassionate observers, I think they more sort of looked bored. Though it is possible that they really were just bored, and I should probably just give them the benefit of the doubt. Mike asked the Weekly Standard reporter “What do you think?” He said he was impressed, and that the whole YearlyKos thing was well executed, and very different from what he expected. Mike deadpanned, “Yeah, but what are you going to write?” The Standard guy chuckled, “The same thing.” I walked with Mike toward the elevator where he’d go up to Projectile Vomitland, and we parted company when I ran into Justin Krebs.
Justin started Drinking Liberally, and as such I owed him a lot. Everywhere I go on this book tour I run into folks who heard about me from Drinking Liberally. Largely that’s thanks to the work of Sarah Rutledge, the leader of the Memphis DL chapter. But I wanted to pay my respects to ‘the man,’ and introduce myself since we’d be on the same panel in the morning. Justin introduced me to the Denver chapter leader, and the three of us had a great conversation.
Finally it was time for Mark Warner to make his address. Learning nothing from Wesley Clark, Mark Warner did his speech without using the Stratosphere’s P.A. Instead of addressing everyone at once, he only gave his speech to those who happened to be near him at the time (to be fair, maybe these casino’s don’t let you use their PAs). Though this time at least he used an amp. The one that belonged to the Blues Brothers. And he was well lit, which was a bonus. I was totally going to listen to him, but I started talking to Dr. J (Jeffrey Feldman) and kind of quit listening to Mark. I know, I know. He paid, and I should have respected him more. I’ll find out more about him later, I promise.
It was getting late (again), I was working on very little sleep, and I was about ready to go home. Instead I let someone talk me into going to Maryscott’s party at Circus Circus. I’m glad I did because Maryscott was throwing a party more in line with what I’m used to. Instead of being served a Kos-mopolitan with a big, blinky plastic ice cube while rubbing elbows with bigwigs and politicos, I’d much rather just pull a Corona out of a bath tub filled with ice, sit in the hotel room, and shoot the shit. If they made a beer commercial for libs it would look like that party. Not to wax philosophical or anything, but the difference between Mark’s party and Maryscott’s sort of illustrates what separates the blogosphere from mainstream politics. One seemed to be more about who you know, and the other was more about who you are.
I think I left Maryscott’s at 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. My panel was going to start in about 7 hours, and I was in desperate need of sleep.
Two days down, one day to go!