Nancy here. It’s Day 4 of the DNC here in Chicago, where it seems like every crack journalist I know has converged and where we work from 6am (well, maybe 7) until 11pm, after which you poured a glass or three down your gullet, fall in bed, and start again in the morning. I love it more than I can say.
I’ve filed three stories for Reason and one that’s still in edit for another outlet. Here, a reading of a piece that posted last night. A clip:
"Is this a little boring?" asked a cameraman. An Irish journalist agreed, and the three of us—having covered more incendiary events in France, Minneapolis, and Portland, respectively—chatted about the days when protests were not announced weeks in advance, but formed spontaneously or were made known through literal samizdat or its digital equivalent. We might have gotten a little nostalgic for times when chats like this were impossible, when you were too busy ducking projectiles, avoiding a stampeding crowd, or covering your face from the tear gas.
There was none of those things here—almost none. The protesters were, if you'll excuse my vulgarity, what my late ex used to call "young, dumb, and full of cum." They were horny for confrontation, and if that meant getting in the faces of some of the cops, they'd do it. Which they did, creating a maybe three-minute scuffle during which several protesters were arrested before everybody went back to their places.
Bonus photos/videos of protest, some of my/your fave reporters, and a lone Israeli singing “America the Beautiful,” after the break.
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