"Undermining my electoral viability since 2001."

Hot Dean Bits

As you may or may not be aware, I've been deep into my Howard Dean thing for a while. I fear sometimes I've lost all perspective on his chances. Dean seems to have the momentum nationally (polls consistantly point upwards) and every time I catch him on the news, on the radio, whatever, he's sounding good. I can't help but love all the stuff that shows up online for him. For instance:

This snagged from the People-Powered Graphics page. There's also a brilliant automagic poster generator. It's all quite heartening, the participation. In other news, the campaign has been running a "Beat Cheny" counter fundraising drive today. It's all over the Official Blog. The story is that some time today Dick will chuckle his way to $250,000 for W's re-election run; selling $1,000 plates at a closed-door luncheon in Columbia, South Carolina to 250 lucky adherants. Over the weekend Dean's supporters have given close to $400,000. At this time there are more than 7,500 contributors, 30x as many as are filling W's coffers.

If I were Team Bush, that might cause me to break a sweat. The barbarians may be at the gate.

And here's your bittersweet bonus link of the day: the words of a member of the Iraqi governing council who has resigned.

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Outlandish!

In a fit of ego I checked my site stats today. Averaging about 400 visits a day: yee-haw! I also found out some guy who works for John Kerry has a picture of me up next to an email from "Wayne Carter" (scroll in the little window until you see this), which is odd. I also found out that I'm #2 in a google search for "Outlandish," outranked only by this Danish rap group who look pretty cool. I wish they had audio samples up.

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It's Happening...

Well, it's not even August and I'm starting to miss NYC. I miss my bike. I miss riding in Brooklyn; tooling around the burnt out husks of old-time industry, the old waterfront on West street. I miss powering over the 59th street bridge, sweating like a savage beast, listening to loud rock and roll and churning through the tides of midtown, freaking people out on the Upper East Site. Sweat dripping down my nose, wild eyes flashing animal promise.

I don't miss the heat and the stink, but I do miss the action. I miss sex and sweat and moving my muscles like an adult does. I miss the engagement that just fucking permiates the air back there; thin layers of oily ambition all over everything. Every now and then it gets to be too much and I need to leave, but after about a month away I start to miss it. I miss the life, the density, the grind of it all. Hymns for the city.

I like San Franciso. It's got a lot of the same qualities, plus hills and wind and even some palm trees. There's also no bitter old-world archie bunker contingent that I can see. White trash instead, like most of the West. The fantasy of being a bike-messenger and a computer guru and an artist sweeps my mind every time I pop my head up from the BART. Fresh baked utopia, just around the corner.

Sometimes I think of the old NYC : Brooklyn :: San Francisco : East Bay analogy, and I think it could happen out here for me. Don't know if it's real of just imaginary, but maybe just crazy enough to work. I don't know much these days. Tailspin on the long-term vision as Everything I once banked on now seems dubious. The dream is mutating -- maybe a new thing, maybe fatal dream-cancer -- and I'm bored sitting around waiting for something to happen.

Part of my ennui springs from the fact that I'm broke right now and here in 'Merica there's not a lot you can do without spending money. Damn shame. Last night Luke and I were wasted -- cheap red wine and california weed -- and trying play Hearts with friends Mike and Emily. It was pretty fun, but I kept feeling self-conscious about how out of it I was. When dealing with friends of friends, I'm still pretty much a socially awkward person, uncomfortable with myself, afraid I'm going to fuck something up.

But I'm going to proj on. There's no point in knuckling now. It's going to be a hell of a month. Anyone got any tips for Burning Man?

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Welcome to Paradise

I've spent a lot of the past couple days in San Francisco -- a beggar bum outside the BART with a cardboard sign: "another day in paradise" -- slumming around various nice places to eat downtown with Britt Blaser and talking about how we're going to turn the screws and take the Dean Campaign all the way. It's heady stuff, talking about what might be and what it might mean for us if we're a part of making it happen. Sometimes I think it's a little too heady, my internal speed warning light goes on. Is this all real?

When I first started working on this, talking with Zack about the possiblities, one of the first things we hit upon was that our effort, though bold and ambitious, was profoundly anti-ego. Or at least, it's non-ego in the classic GodKing kind of sense. It's non-ego in the we don't get paranoid sense. It's non-ego in that we're looking for friends and not followers.

So hang on to that notion kid. It's going to be an eventful year. There's a need for me to make sure my own house is in order. Rule number one is take care of yrself, stay grounded and so forth. Gonna be a challange.

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