Some of you may recall hearing about the night I spent getting sloshed on free apple martinis at Jay Z's club as a Nation intern "covering" the 2004 Republican National Convention in NYC. Really my friend Carmina, another intern, and I used our press passes to get into one of the only RNC parties we could-- one hosted by a Republican African-American politician from Maryland whose name I, predictably, cannot recall. Carmina, in between dancing to Crazy, went around the dance floor asking a lot of people, "You're black-- why are you a Republican?" To which they tended to respond, "I'm not really."
Yesterday my mother and I went to the nearest of three downtown Obama phone bank centers. There were the velvet ropes. Instead of bouncers there were two smiling, bearded guys wearing flannel, one with a ski vest, but there was no mistaking. After signing in so that the campaign could "tell Jay Z and Beyonce how many people showed up" to the space they had "generously donated," my mom and I split up (She got the billiards room upstairs.), and I made my calls from one of ten white leather couches (accidentally across from a girl I went to college with). In another room some guys watched the Jets game, and every half hour or so a server with a plate full of wings stepped awkwardly over us, as he tried to make his way to a paying table.
How's that for full circle?
2 comments:
Can i make my joke about whether or not there was Bottle Service now?
Hmmm... All I can say is that my phone banking experience in Utah took place in an abandoned church with zero snacks to speak of.
Oh, and Jay-Z is a giant poser, obviously.
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