2004-07-31 - 2:02 a.m.

DNC week was pretty great for me. What were inconveniences to some were fun little mini-adventures for myself, and it was fun knowing that at any random minute 200 anarchist protesters could be marching down the street where I work, which did happen after it took me twenty minutes to get through security to drop a package off at a deserted office at 60 State St.

Thursday was definitely the most amusing--the three days prior were virtually eventless (except for when I met my DNC buddy and helped him get where he was going), and police and media outnumbered regular people and delegates, but on Thursday, Fanueil Hall was very crowded. Spunky, energetic, eager, youthful, wide-eyed, optimistic, annoying Rock the Vote kids chanted and marched in a loop around Quincy Market, convinced that people were paying attention, two cops following, babysitting. A bunch of rainbow haired anarchist-ish cheerleaders (one of them male, pigtailed, and in fishnets, most likely envied to some degree of secrecy by his audience) admonished the crowd for electing Republicrats. Overhead from an ogling delegate: and that girl�s father pays $26,000 a year so she can do... that.

Three wholly cute girls in their early 30�s, wearing skimpy black, their exposed flesh painted beautifully, doing their best to look grave and serious despite their collective mardi gras look, had their limbs akimbo'd just so by an artist who probably publicly disdained Warhol as he went about copying everything Warhol ever tried out. Into their palms were placed clear plastic bags containing demolished baby dolls--the intent, which was not made very clear by the artist and I�m half guessing about specifics, was to convey how Bush's wars in Iraq and Afghanistan massacre little children (although all of his mutilated dolls were white). It was a good idea, and the effect was almost poignant, but ruined by the artist himself, flailing about like Bono in sunglasses and a printed T-shirt, making every artist I�ve ever called pretentious look like Bob Ross in comparison.

Oh, and laughing myself silly reading the headlines of the Boston Herald. I fucking hate the Herald, and anyone who still reads the tabloid after viewing their mean spirited efforts this week is either an asshole or an idiot (probably the latter), which is fine as long as they confine themselves to the thrills of summer blockbusters, JAM�N 94.5, and easy crossword puzzles, and stay the hell away from me.

I wish we always had convention week so I could check boston.com 45 times a day, get calls on my cell from the concerned Roommate warning me not to get too close to Causeway St, get really outraged and riled up at the absurd lengths taken by idiots who are against a woman's right to choose, and not quite equally amused as 19 year old girls try to debate them, all the while staring at cute protester girls that want to be looked at, constantly conscious of the fact that over there, Joyce Kulhawik is interviewing a guy selling buttons, so I better cuff my cigarette in case my grandma is watching the news, and at the end of every eventful day, resting my Pabst on my little table so that I can applaud a marvelously crafted speech, aired around the world, about how bad Republicans are. I mean, can�t we do this more often?

This one week was exactly what I thought my life was going to be like when I graduated high school.