I'm a low man on the totem pole. Unknown and largely in the way as I wait to fill out the necessary paperwork to authorize myself as a volunteer. Dean's running out front and they're just now getting the idea that they aught to keep track of who walks in off the street to lend a hand. It's still coming together.

But access was solved -- physical and network -- and I found myself in a cushioned chair at the end of a cul-de-sac of tech workers, just me and my laptop and the mission. I started drawing up a TODO list and soaking up the atmosphere.

It's a turbulent and young organization, DFA. Smaller than I imagined, dense and hot and brightly lit. The staff is lean, and they work for peanuts. I make my first mis-step early when I give the IT guy in charge of handing out wireless encryption keys a touch of the hassle. He's got a Sabbath t-shirt and ear-stretching rings, so I figure it's cool but I came on a little strong -- something I've been doing a lot since Burning Man -- and we got off on the wrong foot. But humor is a good salve for all wounds, and the atmosphere is so positive that the tension dissipates quickly. We're working here.

Here's the thing about the people who work for Dean: in their eyes it's their campaign. This is true of a lot of the grassroots too, but the sentiment is strong here, well thought out. These people see their purpose as saving the country, and the Doctor/Governor is their vehicle for doing this. We all love Dean, but he's a means to an end, not an end in and of itself. He knows this too, and he likes it. It's in his stump speech.

DFA is modeling a networked organization structure. People have autonomy, and they are charged with making their projects happen not by going to a manager and requisitioning resources, but by convincing other people in the office to help them. On an individual level it can be fragmented and distracting, a true multitasking environment, but the output of the organization vs. its burn rate of people and capital speaks for itself. This buzzword is a dead horse, but there's synergy in the air, the divine stimulant of Purpose keeping the whole works thundering forward.

At one point my cell phone wandered off. Zack took it to talk to David Weinberger, then handed it to Zephyr, who I gather gave it to Matt. Two hours later I was wondering where my phone was and what the bill might be; all part of the fun of an ambitious and relatively egoless organization.

It's 2:30am and it's time to go grab some sleep. The senior web team is still at it. Gray, a shining example of humanity who drove up from Birmingham Alabama and stayed, is drinking Yerba Mate. Some of the finance people are still working hard. The late shift has a magical quality to it, the workaholic equivalent to the power curve of a drinking binge. There's a lull around dinner time, but even the pros stick around until midnight.

The team here is bright and strong and amazingly pure of heart. People from the internet send them food. Young reporters struggle to wrap their minds around the reasons why people end up here, how people can meet through an unsolicited email and end up taking a 300 mile road trip to work at a labor of love. I sit here tippy-tapping into my laptop as the campaign swirls on around me in a state of grace. They're doing it the right way, and it's working.