Playin' it cool at the Nike Store.
As many of you probably noticed - or didn't, I guess - the Democratic National Convention went off without a hitch in Denver last week. Delegates, Super Delegates and thousands of heavily armed police - both local and federal - used plastic handcuffs, armored vehicles (mostly courtesy of Aurora...hmmm...), kind words, and a great deal of intimidation (read as, standing together in lines at least a dozen long on every corner in Denver with fingers just inches away from triggers of M-16 assault rifles) to successfully maintain peace with a minimum of disruption to the local folk. Protesters protested without major incident, and curious Denverites (me) wandered around taking pictures of what it must be like to live in a police state.
An amazing contrast on such a beautiful evening.
Sorry, blurry. This was just moments before I thanked Joe for, well, I'm not sure - never lived in Delaware.
After watching Joe Biden accept the nomination to run as Barack Obama's VP at a local LoDo bar, Greg and I met up with a couple of friends near the Convention Center. They had tickets to a party that night, but we were going to stand outside and look pathetic, hoping someone would spare us tickets, too, so that we could join in the festivities. Our plan worked, and magic tickets appeared before us, granting us access to a party for (allegedly) donors to the campaign responsible for raising more than $350,000. I have no way of authenticating that, other than saying that the drinks were free, I ate a great amount of swordfish and lamb, we were hands down the worst-dressed people at the party, and no one was really very interesting to talk with, there being two exceptions (neither of whom live anywhere near Denver). To wrap the evening, I met Joe Biden and told him thanks, but for what I'm not sure. By the time I stumbled into bed, it was past 3am on Thursday. Work on Thursday - at 7am - was a struggle.
As if we could have made any bigger asses of ourselves...
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