Moby ("Our Dumb Musician in Denver") Does the DNC: Fried Bananas, Hippies and Celebrities Everywhere!

(FILED 8:35pm Mountain Time)

OK, blog? I've said it before, but blog is probably the least attractive word in the English language. Like blech meets clog. And doesn't blogging sound like some weird Dutch fetish practice involving cheese? Maybe there's a section on Craigslist: 'd&d free bbw into blogging and other cheese-play. Must send picture.'

But I digress.  

The people in the Pepsi Center just gave Bill Clinton the biggest rock star reception I've ever witnessed. It was like he was Bono mixed with the Pope mixed with Jenna Jameson mixed with a guy driving an ice cream truck on the hottest day of summer. These palpable waves of love flowed from the delegates to Clinton, and he seemed happy but vaguely annoyed that they wouldn't sit down and let him speak. His speech was spot on, pointing out that after 8 years of running/ruining the country, the GOP probably don't deserve another 4 more years, and he also very clearly endorsed Obama. Nice.

Earlier in the day I went to an event at Brown's Palace, which sounds like some weird Berlin club for shit fetishists, but is actually the fancy hotel in Denver where the big-wig politicians are all staying, and I spent some time watching the political machine while drinking coffee. (Yes, I used to own a tea shop in NYC, but I love coffee. I often joke that I like my coffee like I like my women, cold and bitter. Ha ha. It's a joke. I don't really like cold and bitter coffee). The lobby at Brown's Palace of scat fetishists was filled with, well, lobbyists. How fitting.

People from the conservative Tory party in the U.K. were there watching the American political process up close, and everyone else was either a friend of Obama or a Kennedy or a fundraiser or a friend of a fundraiser or a movie star or a politician. I don't know what pheromones are released when professional politicos meet up to eat fried bananas and drink Coke, but the Brown Palace lobby was rife with them. Them being the pheromones. I guess that's the sound the king of Egypt made when he was stinky: pheromones. Sorry. That was a terrible pun. Mea culpa.

One of the strange things about the convention is the disparity between the actual convention and how it's being covered on TV.  Friends write to me about images on TV of contentious demonstrations and taser-wielding police and unrest and etc.

The truth is, Denver's kind of peaceful. But I guess peaceful Denver doesn't exactly make for good TV coverage, whereas a couple of hippies getting tasered makes for good ratings.

There are cops and security guards everywhere, but more often than not they look bored, standing around wondering whether the skinny white kid in the Iowans for Obama t-shirt is a potential terrorist. No, he's probably just a kid from Iowa in an ill-fitting t-shirt. Lots of cops. Lots of security. And they all seem bored. Which might explain why they're jumping at the chance to taser hippies and wrestle ladies to the ground for not having security badges.

To make my blogging (what a disgusting word) more interesting I should probably write about some celebrity sightings since I've been here, but celebrity name-dropping makes me uncomfortable.  How about this: there are celebrities here in Denver and they're really famous and interesting and they have great lives and get free clothes and have way more fun than the rest of us can even conceive of and when they're not attending political conventions they're having phenomenal orgies on their private planes that are also yachts made out of a new type of alloy that makes gold and platinum look like old dirt. Yes, celebrities are here. Hanging out.  Eating fried bananas. Hosting events. Being celebrities.

I'm sure that more respectable journalists are happily documenting the movements of celebrities in Denver, whereas I write about angel dust and cheese fetishists and bad puns. That's why I'm not a professional journalist. I'm just a dumb musician with a computer and an internet connection and too much time on his hands.

OK, I'm getting long-winded. And I have to head out to a Shep Fairey/Moveon.org party where Death Cab For Cutie and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and a bunch of other people are playing. It should be fun. A crowded clusterfuck, but a fun clusterfuck. And Shep Fairey is awesome. And then, later, I'm DJ'ing a DMC/Obama fundraiser at a church, where I'll stand onstage and play other people's records and take credit for them.

I'll write more later, and I'll try not to be such a verbose windbag.
Operative word being try.

thanks,
moby

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