Democratic National Convention
The third day.
Do I really want to work the buffer and wade through the huddled masses jammed onto the floor today?** Is the juice worth the squeeze, or is there a smarter, kinder, and even gentler way to observe the surreal world that has been kindly created for us?
Sadly, this isn't the first time I've asked myself that question.
Strategy—a broken word. One that I can only ever pronounce as “stray-tee-aer-y.”
Thank you, W.
Still, I need some of that. Sometimes, even a photojournalist has to think things through. It’s a trap, of course, to pre-envision the wonderful images one is about to make. Think too much, and you miss what’s happening right in front of you as you wait for your utopia to materialize.
But then again, this is politics in America. Like crab cakes and football, it’s what we do.
Broken, but not bowed. Like all the best pirates, cowboys, celebrities, billionaires, and even Cruella de Vil. But not ex-high school football players. Keep those old jerseys in the closet, boys. Put them down. Step away. Maybe let your daughters wear them on Halloween, but never, ever, put them on. And if you do, don’t parade onto the national stage like you’re strutting down the catwalk for David Bowie.
Keep them all in the closet.
The catwalk is where you find it, and Wednesday night, I found mine deep inside the bowels of the United Center.
Welcome to my magical world.
Thanks Ken. Thoughtful words and an insightful edit.
Looking forward to Day Four pics, as well....