The church next door to me is marked as my official polling location for tomorrow. I can see through the widows of my bedroom into the exact windows in the church library which house the exact electronic voting booths that are assigned to me for tomorrow--one of which will log my vote for Barack Obama.
I can see my family's destiny from my house and it's very cool.
Honestly, that church has been both the bane and the awesomeness of my existence. It's awesome because I can literally roll out of bed and vote. It's also awesome because it was the polling location that was assigned to me for the California primary on February 5, 2008, which made my campaign poll-watching assignment very very easy.
But what is NOT awesome about that church is that hidden inside its steeple is a cell phone tower which corresponds with a cellphone tower which is not my provider and which, inexplicably, causes a ridiculous about of interference which pretty much ensures that me & everyone else can only get a max of 2 bars inside my house.
This is in a major metropolitan area.
Try running a phone bank from your house when you don't have a VOIP connection and everyone in attendance is trying their best to call voters in PA before the primary there and no one can get more than 2.5 bars.
So this is why the church has been the bane of my existence.
But for tomorrow, it is awesome.
Tomorrow, I will roll out of bed around 4 and will stealth-ishly creep over to the church next door to see if there is a line to vote. If there is, I will join it. If not, then I will check the Huffington Post and press refresh for a few hours before going over to get in line right when the polls open.
I am so proud to have embarked on this journey with all of you. And I am so thrilled that tomorrow it is both ending and beginning anew.
We will use the tools and the infrastructure of MyBO to serve as community organizers over the next 8 years. We will answer the call to serve with enthusiasm.
Yes we can.
I am running for delegate because of a promise I made to my daughter on July 27, 2004, a couple of months before she was born. I was living in Texas then and I had a bad case of the Red State Blues. I didn’t want my daughter to be born under the bad sign of the Bush Administration, but I felt powerless to stop it. What good could I possibly do in Texas? My Blue vote wasn’t even going to count. I felt hopeless.But then I heard Obama’s keynote address. It was not his look or his oratory skills which yanked the scales from my eyes, it was what he said.He knew what I was going through, he knew my red state pain. He knew that I wasn’t 100% liberal or blue, and he knew that the conservative pundits wanted to stomp the hope out of me. He knew that was an easy task because he knew that I wanted my vote to count, even in a red state, despite the fact that it was never going to, under the current system. He knew that I wanted desperately to feel hope. He knew that I wanted to love my country again.I felt my daughter kick right then and swore to her that I would get Barack Obama elected, whenever he decided to run. My daughter is three years old now and she claps and shrieks whenever Obama appears on the television. “It’s . . . OBAMA!” she says. He is one of only 11 people in the world who she knows on sight, including Elmo, and that means a lot to me. See, my daughter has autism, a neurological disorder that affects communication and social skills. She is an amazing kid, and Barack Obama knows this. My daughter matters to him. On Americans with Disabilities Day, Barack Obama was the first Presidential candidate to release a comprehensive policy statement that included a mandatory screening for autism at the two-year well baby checkup. On Autism Awareness Day, he released a similarly detailed and thoughtful statement. I am aware of no other Presidential candidate who has demonstrated such levels of compassion for children with autism and other special needs.My husband and I have hosted Obama meetings, canvasses, fundraisers, phone banks, and GOTV efforts at our home. Every single Obama supporter who has ever walked through my front door has become a friend, and some of the Obama supporters whom I met on Walk for Change day on June 9, 2007 have become my best friends in the world. All of these people are dedicated to serving their candidate and their country. If elected to serve as an Obama pledged delegate for the 53rd Congressional District, I will work my tail off in Denver to ensure that:(1) Barack Obama receives the nomination.(2) Barack Obama emerges from the Convention as the strongest possible general election candidate.(3) Barack Obama has a strong Democratic majority to pass his legacy legislation (e.g. health care) and end the war in Iraq.Over the past 15 months, I have developed relationships with a network of Obama volunteers, fundrasiers, surrogates, advisors, and staffers accross the country. I promise to utilize these contacts to serve the best interests of the campaign, whether that means providing support to a downticket Democrat in a red state, or reaching out to a disappointed Clinton supporter. This is a long-winded way of saying that I want to do much more in Denver than listen to speeches. I know that we will be able to change the face of politics forever in Denver and I am eager to get started.I also intend to use my legal training to memorize the procedural rules which govern the Convention and the related DNC committees. While I am confident that Obama has a team of remarkable lawyers to make brilliant arguments in the trenches of the Credentials Committee meetings, I will be prepared to help organize Obama’s delegates on the floor to take whatever actions are necessary (procedurally) to secure the nomination.
Specific credentials:
National Grassroots Finance Committee Leadership Circle
Precinct Captain - San Diego
GOTV organizer - San Diego
Volunteer Organizer - San Diego
Event coordinator for official election night parties, debate watch parties, and campaign rallies
Active MyBO blogger, Action Team member
Thank you for your consideration. Best,Erika
I received an email last week from a fellow who had renamed himself Hussein. At first, I thought it was one of those posion email chains and so I angrily clicked on the fake Hussein's website to see what he was up to. I was floored by what I saw.
This amazing person had taken the time to reach out to people and encourage them to submit photos of themselves holding up signs that said, "I am Hussein." I realized that the creator of the website was making a valiant effort to de-stigmatize the word "Hussein." I Googled "Hussein" to remind myself of the literal translation: the name "Hussein" means "handsome one" in Arabic.
Indeed. Obama, and his family, and all of his supporters are handsome people. Well, I am of the age where I am fearful of being described as a "handsome woman" (which is a step away from being called a "cougar") and so I expanded the definition of "Hussein" to mean "beautiful" "hot" "physically attractive" or just plain "attractive." Because let's face it: We Obama supporters are damn attractive. Any of us who don't fit the traditional mold of beauty make up for it with personality. We are all beautiful on the inside which is why we have the unique abilitiy to embrace hope, and which is why all of us have longed for change.
Which is why many of us have added "Hussein" to our names. I noticed this in the comment boxes on the main HQ blog and was overwhelmed with pride and joy.
I am tired of ugliness. I am 36 years old and have never before experienced grace and beauty in politics. I do not remember President Nixon, but he shaped my early exposure to politics because he was a sneaky, vicious liar. He sullied the Oval Office and no one believed in the Presidency. At that same time, my family lived in Georgia. I remember that our next door neighbor was a violent racist, I remember that someone spit on my father for wearing an Army uniform in a cafe. I remember that the receptionist at my pediatrician's office encouraged a Black family to move into the "other" waiting room. I remember that President Jimmy Carter seemed like a decent and smart man, a really nice guy, but that a lot of people hated him. I remember Reagan and hubris and saber rattling and a vicious hate brewing against liberals and poor people. I remember associating our "Super Power" status with a general FU attitude.
I remember being inspired by Bill Clinton, but then immediately disempowered by the crusade against him by the Right. Their methods and their moral highground were both ridiculous and irksome, but Bill Clinton handled it terribly and even exacerbated the problem. His wife's health care project was shrouded in secrecy and clouded by arrogance: she would not support a decent health care bill that was sponsored by some intelligent and well-meaning conservative Democrats. The Clintons surrounded themselves with loyalists from Arkansas and refused to listen to anyone who wasn't in their inner circle, even when their inner circle was hauled off to jail, shamed into leaving office, or carried out of Washington in a body bag. Hillary's response to Vince Foster's suicide was to send her aides into his office to remove a bunch of files.
And of course there is Paula Jones and Monica Lewinsky. That was ugly. I refused to pass judgment on Bill Clinton for having affairs or being a Lothario and even defiantly referred to him as a "pimp" which I meant as a compliment. But the image of cigars and stained blue dresses and tawdry sex acts with an emotionally unstable young woman in the Oval Office made me feel queasy deep down. It was a horrendous error in judgment on his part, as was his refusal to settle the Paula Jones lawsuit which ruined his last years in office and Al Gore's chance to take the reins.
I blame the Clintons for the past seven years of ugliness inflicted on us by the Bush administration. Had they supported the campaigns of Al Gore and John Kerry with the zeal that they are supporting Hillary's run, none of this would've happened.
And yet they have the audacity to attack Barack Obama with more poison than they have ever directed at George W. Bush. Hurricane Katrina was ugly, and yet at the moment of reckoning, when George W. Bush was forced to address the American people on Thursday September 1, 2005 and explain why he had allowed Americans to drown on national television, I could stare only at President Clinton standing behind W, serving as some sort of support system with his new friend George HW Bush.
The first Black president should've kicked W in the a** when he had that precious opportunity. His presence there was tacit approval of the federal response to Hurricane Katrina. I have never forgiven him for it, and have grown to despise him for the comments he's made on the campaign trail. He's probably not a racist, but he is a self-interested liar.
And now I have descended into ugliness.
Pray that this race will be over tomorrow. And change your name to "Hussein" in the meantime. Because you are beautiful.
One of the many things I learned from living in New Orleans is that there is no shame in fleeing a city in the face of impending disaster. So on Monday, when San Diego was surrounded by a ring of fire and the Governator told me that the fires would likely burn for three days and also that there was no way to really contain the flames so long as the Santa Ana winds were blowing, that I had two choices--flee San Diego or pray for better weather. I'm not above praying, but I've noticed that there is sort of disconnect between mother nature and prayer. Gaia gets pissed sometimes and I haven't quite figured out how to appease her (nor do I think that she responds to personal prayers). She is on a different wavelength than the "Our Father Who Art in Heaven" entity who has been known to be more willing to entertain personal requests, e.g. his support of certain professional athletes who agree in advance to point to the sky after putting points on the board.
But so anyway, on Monday I gave Gaia a nod and then wigged out and booked plane tickets to New Orleans--the first city to pop into my mind and coincidentally the next destination on the Southwest departure board. I lived in the Big Easy from 1998-2001 and hold it dear because out of the twelve cities I've lived in, it's really the only place that has ever felt like home. [cue violins] See, I've never really gotten over Katrina and had not been able to stomach going back there until that exact moment last week. I believe that New Orleans was murdered and if you would like to see why, then feel free to visit my website at http://www.whoblewit.com. Although you don't need my website to revisit the horror that you no doubt felt when you watched Americans drown on national television. That is undoubtedly on the short list of why you are here, supporting a candidate who would never treat a U.S. city like a bag of unwanted kittens tossed off a bridge.
When we arrived in the Big Easy at midnight last Monday, I knew exactly why I was there. Our hotel was across the street from the Convention Center, the place where my law school graduation was held and also the place where people lined up crying and screaming for help when the cameras cut away from the Superdome on August 31, 2005. I spent a great deal of time staring at that building this past week, and while the small stream of convention-goers gave me some hope that New Orleans' economy might just bounce back after all, it was impossible to drown out the voices of the ghosts from 2005. Everywhere I looked I saw signs of recovery--walking from my hotel down Bourbon Street it was nearly impossible to detect any evidence of the huge disaster. But something was missing from New Orleans. There are people who used to be in New Orleans who are no longer there. They scattered to the four winds when the buses finally came on Setember 2, 2005 and I do not know where they are today.
I returned to San Diego this morning. My house is intact and my neighbors tell me that the breezes from the bay kept the choking smoke from filling up my neighborhood. I think they were trying to say that I needn't have left. But they do not understand my ulterior motives for jumping at the chance to return to a city I love and also how that city shaped my approack to risk. If Katrina taught us anything, it's that one can never really tell how a natural disaster is going to play out and that help might not be able to reach you when you need it. Better to be holed up in a hotel room watching CNN than stuck on your roof. My aversion to risk is equal to my distrust of the current administration who has used Katrina as an excuse to give themselves the unfettered right to declare martial law following a natural disaster (see the 2006 authorization bill PL 109-364). I am frankly surprised that Bush didn't use this disaster to flex his powers to suspend the Constitution. Those powers, thankfully, will be limited as soon as the ink is dry on HR 1585. So maybe the coast is clear for now.
But this isn't about me or my conspiracy theories. It is about moving on from all of that and envisioning how spectacular things are going to be when Barack is elected. And acting as we would if he were elected. We're all pitching in on this campaign as sort of a dress rehearsal for how we'll be asked to pitch in to help him fix this country once he's in office. And so I have a couple of ideas. One, getting together with people here in San Diego to help those displaced by the fires--perhaps by adopting a family or two for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Two, reaching out to Katrina evacuees who might want to return home. Or who might want to know that they haven't been forgotten about. Three, thinking about how to pump some money into the economy in New Orleans. I asked everyone I spoke with how I could help and they said simply, "Tell everyone you know to come here. Spread the word."
(1) PORTENT #1: The other day I was sitting in traffic in Solana Beach, waiting to get on the 5. I was telling my friend how awesome it would be to attend the Inaugural Ball. "Just picture Barack and Michelle standing there as President and First Lady, and then . . . "
My monologue was interrupted by a horn blaring and a lone voice crying in the wilderness, "OBAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!"
Someone with a sunroof and a loud voice had seen my Obama '08 bumperstickers. Right at that second.
WHAT ARE THE ODDS?
1. Sell Barack to Telemarketers & Door-to-Door Salespeople. Sure, they encroach on your privacy and sometimes try to trick you out of your hard earned money. But they are also potential voters, which is why I've shifted my strategy from a terse "Please put me on your Do Not Call list" or (in the case of in-person solicitors) hiding in my daughters room until they go away. Now, I view their intrusions as an opportunity to promote Barack Obama. Here's how it goes:
TELEMARKETER: Yes, Mrs. Schinler? Your husband gave a very generous contribution to our [bullshit widows/orphans law enforcement] fund. Will you contribute even more money for the widows and orphans this year?
ME: Oh, gee, Jerry [very important to use their name]. I would LOVE to, but I'm directing all of our dispensable income on Barack Obama's presidential campaign. Are you familiar with the Senator?
TELEMARKETER: Um . . .
ME: OK, check him out at Barack Obama Dot Com.
TELEMARKETER: How about we send you out a decal for only a $10 pledge?
ME: Oh, man Jerry, that sounds awesome. But see, I am not kidding when I tell you that we are literally giving every dime to Barack Obama. My kid is eating Ramen noodles, and god only knows what that is going to do to her developing neurological system. Check out fec.gov if you don't believe me.
ME: OK, here's what I'm gonna do for you, Jerry. Because I know you need to make your commissions. Go to Barack Obama Dot Com and sign up as one of my friends and i will totally give you a big donation when Barack gets elected. I'll totally have more money to dole out then.
ME: Barack Obama Dot Com, man. The country is in shambles. We've all got to pull together, capeesh?
TELEMARKETER: OK, ma'am. Have a nice night.
ME: You too, Jerry. And I'll look forward to seeing you on my friends list at Barack Obama Dot Com.
2. Wear your Obama '08 t-shirt whenever you travel or go out in public, especially if you have big boobs. OK, I'm very sorry to be crass, but big boobs sell shit. It's a scientific fact. And this is why whenever I go to the beach or an airport, I am wearing one of my Barack Obama babydoll t-shirts.
3. Insert voter registration forms and Barack Obama literature with your bathroom magazine collection. I do a lot of entertaining, and so each month, dozens of guests use my guest bathroom. Before each party, I carefully place the literature (from Walk for Change day) behind a recent issue of W Magazine or Vanity Fair, as if it got accidentally nixed in. EVERY TIME I have found conclusive proof that the Obama literature has been viewed and often taken. Last party, three people pocketed literature. It might seem like a small number, but man, it adds up.
4. Sell your expensive crap on eBay or Craig's List & give Barack a high roller donation. I will be the first to admit that I am HORRIBLE about getting rid of expensive crap that I do not use, mainly because it is expensive and I think I might use it again, someday. Like my law books or my Armani power suits or my men's seniors Taylor Made (with ladies' grips) golf clubs, including my Big Bertha 3 wood which I have happily used from tee to green. I suck at golf and am willing to admit it. This is why on September 15th, I am going to sell off my golf clubs and other pricey shit to the highest bidder, along with anyone else who decides to attend my Upscale Garage Sale Barack Obama house party.
5. Get an Obama '08 tattoo. I know it sounds drastic, but I came up with this idea recently when my father asked me what I was going to do if Hillary Clinton got the nomination. My father is a huge Barack supporter, but he is also in insurance, so I think his question was aimed not towards meanness, but rather a simple risk assessment to determine if he needed to put some money aside for a bit of pajama time for me in a sanitarium somewhere should the unthinkable happen. I had no answer for him and felt my eyes welling up with tears as I considered the possibility for the first time. I replied simply, "I believe with all of my heart that the country is going to do the right thing and show up at the primaries in unprecedented numbers. This is why I am going to get a Barack Obama tattoo." My mother gasped, because she still hasn't gotten used to my original tattoo, which is Hunter S. Thompson's double thumbed fist over a double sided dagger and the word "GONZO."
If enough of my Daygo Obama supporters have the stones, we might just be able to drum up some media coverage for Senator Obama.
If you build it, they will come.
Seacrest out.
