Mark's Pages

August 27, 2003:

Packed plaza, people pressed body to body, moving with difficulty through the enormous crowd.

Behind you two college-age men notice your digital camera. The one says pointedly to his friend, voice raised, "Why are there so many people with cameras? They must be cops or something."

You spin down on them so vehemently that they'd each retreat four or five feet if the crowd would let them.

"Dumbfuck," you say succinctly. "The cops are the people on the rooftops with the video cameras and telephoto lenses." You point to the somewhat ostentatious police surveillance teams who are, indeed, unmistakable.

"The people in the crowd taking pictures are from the alternative press, or are organizers of the rally. We're here to document the size of the turnout, so that when the police and Fox News lie about our numbers we can publish a more realistic account." You scowl, they cringe. "Why don't you find the nearest fucking clue store and buy yourself something extra large?"

You turn and put an end to this brief encounter, thinking two contradictory things. First, that the reason we always lose is that we attract the helplessly inept. Second, that you should never participate in one of these things without first attending to your blood sugar.