ID Please

Scene from The Breakfast Club

Andrew: What do you need a fake I.D. for?
Brian: So I can vote. 

Todd Rehm at Peach Pundit references an interesting study from our neighbors to the east. South Carolina has a voter ID law similar to Georgia. Unlike Georgia, however, where Democratic activists cried people would be dispossessed, then scoured the state for those poor unfortunates and comically failed, the Associated Press' report on South Carolina is very different.

The report is unclear if South Carolina has similar "free ID" provisions like Georgia. It is these access provisions that ultimately saved the Peach State's law and caused much consternation in liberal circles. But the number of people who do not possess ID in the Palmetto State is dramatic.

The precinct that votes at Benedict College in Columbia, has 2,790 voters, including nine white voters. In that precinct, 1,343 of the precinct’s nonwhite voters lack state identification, but only five white voters do.

All this fascinating data led to the usual discussion of "how do people live in a modern society without identification". To many, having to flash a government ID is a pervasive act in the 21st century. They cannot be convinced otherwise, not matter how you explain that not everybody drives, not everybody flies, not everybody drinks spirits, etc., etc., etc.

But the bottom line is this - although having an ID certainly greases the rails of our society, it is by no means necessary and it is actually pretty rare that you have to show one.

Don't believe me? Try this little experiment. Try to remember the last time you actually had to show your ID. If your over 30, I guarantee it is harder than you think. If you can remember, then think of how many times you've had to do it in the last six months. Probably not that many.

Checks are direct deposited. We no longer access our money by cashing checks. If you don't drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, speed, fly planes or rent cars and have worked at the same job for years or are retired, it's actually pretty rare that anyone ever ask you to prove who you are.

I honestly can't recall the last time I actually showed my drivers license to someone. Probably the last time I took a plane trip. Definitely the last time I voted. Other than that? Can't think of of one time I had to whip the old government ID out.

Identification helps but it's just not as much a requirement as it used to be.

Unless you want to vote.

Or get a job.

And perversely, it is those who publicly decry government interference in our lives who seem obsessed with the government knowing exactly who you are and what you are up to

Advice For Life

Do not speak ill of the dead. No matter how right you are, your only accomplishment.will be the lessening of yourself.

The Reassessment

Rebirth requires reassessment.

When last I haunted these halls, I was an angry man with little hope for the future. I wouldn't be here, dusting the furniture, if things had not changed.

Let's take a look at how the larger world has faired.

The Blogs


The market works as it wants. Most of the garbage floated away or was marked as irrelevant. There is still flotsam and jetsam out there. It occasionally brushes by, leaving a slick film, but they are now few. What is left are those who have found their niche and survived the onslaught of Facebook, twitter and whatever is the latest social media flavor of the week.


A year ago, Peach Pundit teetered on the brink of fringe lunacy. Instead of pushing the conversation of in the halls of power, it pushed waves of sludge.. New editor Charlie Harper recruited a stable of writers who understood provocative does not need to be outrageous. It is again the nexus of political talk in the state of Georgia.

As expected, local reporting flourished. The patches have popped up everywhere. In Virginia Highland, the Va Hi patch reported on a neighborhood shooting and a coffee shop stick up before the television stations could start their trucks. Up in Dunwoody, John Heneghan's blog remained a critical resource for the citizens of the young city.

If Decatur Metro weren't still around, I may not have come back. If a model for blogging that well conceived could not survive, then none could. Instead it thrived, expanded and even brought on a wandering wit from the former halls of Creative Loafing.


And Doug Monroe is back. That says it all.

The blogs are in good hands.

The Press

More of a mixed bag here but, oh, the changes our professional brothers and sisters have made.

Five years ago, newspaper people bluntly told me, the editorial process would never be removed from the production of news. Never. No one could conceive such a strange thing.

Now, a mysterious troop has free rein on the Atlanta Journal Constitution's twitter feed. They are snarky. They are clever. They are freewheeling. They make mistakes and make no effort to cover them up. Most importantly. they create interest where there once was none.

Jay Bookman once approached blogging as if were a deadly snake. Now, he uses pictures from A Clockwork Orange to make satirical points.

It was as if the road from Marietta Street to Dunwoody were the road to Tarsus and the editorial staff were populated by hundreds of prostrate Sauls.

Speaking of that noted move to Dunwoody, not all in the media is light from above.

A few weeks ago, a shooting went down on Trinity and I commented on Twitter about how it would be nice if a major media outlet was nearby to cover the story. Political writer Aaron Gould Sheinin replied "Ouch". Nothing more needs to be said about the AJC's lack of presence in downtown.

Since the move to Perimeter Center, many have noted the tone of the paper has grown more "suburban". The ultimate slap came in the form of an article which skewed the purpose of the Edgewood Ave streetcar so far, a reader might have believed it was the mythical Shelbyville monorail from The Simpsons. The article was bad enough, but the backslapping full page ad quoting surburbanite praise for the expose' of the folly of the "boondoggle" was beyond insulting.

The paper still has a long way to go. But they've come a hell of a long way already. They should be praised when deserved, but switched back into line when it strays.

Me

Like Fast Eddie Felson, I'm older. Grayer. The eyes don't work quite as well. There have been many changes and we will speak of those later.

But like the old hustler, I still know the game.

Hey, I'm back.

The Tortillas Moment

As co-owner Charlie Kerns explains: "The burrito war has been fought and won. We didn't win it."

Kerns says that while Tortillas still does enough business to remain open indefinitely, he wanted to retire his labor of love before it slips too far into decline.

"Sometimes things look better in the rear-view mirror," he says.

~Creative Loafing, April 23, 2003

Photo courtesy of Bell Street Burritos, who shows there is still some goodness in the world

The Best Of The Drifts - Confessions Of A Taxman

Originally published March 8, 2009

Confessions of a Taxman

Why does a libertarian become a tax collector? Because even libertarians need a paycheck. How does a libertarian act as a tax collector? With the belief that tax enforcement is not about punishment but correcting mistakes.

In the days when I still referred to myself as a libertarian instead of an independent, for two years I was employed by the Georgia Department of Labor as a Field Representative (officially an Unemployment Insurance Tax Auditor). I did not miss the irony.

One duty was the collection of the Unemployment Insurance tax. Unlike other taxmen with whom you may be familiar, I did not go after individuals - I went after employers. Employers paid the tax quarterly with the amount based on their total payroll. When they became delinquent, a file came to my desk and I devised the best strategy to obtain the money.

To the frustration of my supervisor, I demurred in the use of the most devastating tools in my arsenal. Restraint and diplomacy became my style. Others who had worked the trade for years shook their heads in disbelief.

I have many war stories from these years, some funny, some sad, but the two I always remember were the strip club and the daycare center.

My assigned territory was a mottled blob of strangeness. It stretched from the strip joints and lingerie modeling establishments on Cheshire Bridge through the financial heart of Buckhead all the way to the doctor's offices around Northside Hospital. It was not unusual for a single trip to take me from a liquor store to a stockbroker's office.

Despite what one might think, the adult establishments were hardly a problem. Other than the Gold Club (the Federales got them before I ever got close), for months I never saw a file on the myriad houses of nudity. Then, one appeared. It was a small bill. They only missed one filing but curiousity (and perhaps more puerile interest) drove me to investigate.

There are few things weirder than a strip club at 2:00 in the afternoon on a weekday. The parking lot was full of trucks and sedans. I was entering the world of the landscapers and salesmen - men who forsake the heat of the day for a dark place covered in booze and skin.

A cocktail waitress approached me and asked if I needed anything. A manager I replied. The man in charge appeared quickly and I showed him the bill. He ushered me to his office and relayed a familiar story.

The club had changed accountants and in the confusion the quarterly filing was misssed. I responded, "It happens all the time. I figured it was something like that since you guys are never a problem".

He agreed, opened the big business checkbook and snapped out the full amount.

As he handed me the check, he said, "It'll never happen again."

I replied, "I bet".

Not too far from the strip joint, a young couple opened a daycare center.

They left high paying engineering jobs because they wanted something for themselves and they loved children.

When their file crossed my desk, my supervisor pointed out that it appeared to be classic case of what he called a "mercy killing". He believed some people did not have what it takes to run a business and the best action we could take was to end the misery. He had a point. They were a new business and those always faced the most danger. They were also horribly behind and experience told me the chances of payment were slim.

It was within my power to begin the process which would result in their closure, but I looked at my supervisor and said, "let me go check them out".

The daycare was in an old building next to an even older apartment complex, but it had a fresh coat of bright yellow paint and flower decals on the door. The owners were not much older than me and it was apparent they were over their heads. When they first opened, they knew a lot about kids but not much about running a business. Of course they were aware of the outstanding taxes - they had dutifully filed every quarter, they just didn't pay. The wife told of the dread they both felt about the day the taxman came and now he was here.

We sat and I heard the familiar story of the sacrifices made, the hard lessons learned and the tiny successes. Some tears were shed but their eyes glinted with the belief they had turned the corner and could still realize their dream. But they had no idea how they would deal with this awful piece of paper I was holding in my hand.

I looked around - noted the clean but obviously second hand furnishings, the gaggle of children playing in the next room and the mother arriving to take her daughter home. I then reached into my bag and pulled out a repayment agreement. We discussed how much they could pay without crippling the business, how long it would take and how I would personally come each month to pick up the check. I warned them that my supervisor's approval was required but I believed I could convince him.

The next day, he rolled his eyes and signed the agreement.

Every month, for one year, I stopped by the daycare and picked up a check. On the last day, they met me at the doors with smiles on their faces, check in hand. They demanded I follow them to the office to see the photocopy they made of their final payment.

In two years as a taxman, I only put one business out of operation and filed less than two dozen liens, yet I was in the top three collectors every quarter.

The strip club and the daycare center and countless others taught me there is a reason tax matters are dealt with in a civil rather than a criminal manner. Most people who get into trouble with the taxman do so through carelessness, biting off more than they can chew or just flat out Murphy's Law. It is the rare bird who intentionally tries to get away with being a cheat.

In this season of much thunder about taxes, who pays them, who doesn't and what should be done about it, saying so and so is a bad person and should be punished is an easy story to sell to a cynical public. But as politicians proudly thump their chests and demand a reckoning, we should remember that behind their simplistic descriptions of ne'er-do-wells may be a daycare center or even a strip club or maybe your neighbor or maybe even you.

The bloodlust and call for scalps are seductive, but we all face the taxman eventually and all should hope their own story is seen for what it is and not just a politician's punchline.

The Best Of The Drifts - An Accessory

Originally Published February 24, 2009

An Accessory

It is time to talk plainly.

There comes a time in many relationships when one side must accept the fact the other side simply does not care. It is painful. It is undesirable. But it is a crystalline threshold which must be passed.

I do not speak of the Atlanta Journal Constitution or Creative Loafing. They were casual friends at best. Even as they stumbled online and dwindled on paper, they were always upfront that they never really considered us potential partners.

I speak of the new guys arriving at the dance.

A little over a year ago, I was approached by a quasi-traditional media company who wanted to create a nationwide network of blogs to cover the Presidential campaign. It was an exciting idea but there was barely any time and the idea was nebulous at best.

However, the players seemed sincere about melding "old" and "new" media and there was the small hope a real hybrid would emerge.

Using my knowledge of the online world and small reputation, I began recruiting bloggers across the nation. It was the usual promise of exposure and more traffic - the Tree of Knowledge fruit which lures us so easily. I dutifully submitted my lists of contacts and then waited for the next step which never came.

Soon, I realized the entire project was nothing more than a vanity vehicle and the dreams of something new and better had been cast aside for a shiny new toy.

At least they paid.

A few months ago, I was approached again.

Instead of an old company playing with new toys, this venture was a new company starting fresh. Hope kindled in the fact that not only had this new entity acquired an astounding array of talent but those in charge previously showed an understanding of new media. Their proposal was nothing less than blowing up then replacing the traditional distribution model for journalistic content.

And from the beginning they spoke of integrating new media voices.

Simply sitting in a room with generations of journalism experience and hearing them discuss publishing in terms developed, tweaked and pushed in previous blog conversations, panel discussions and fiery arguments was intoxicating. There was enough hope for a realization of an idea that I rushed home and immediately typed up all my thoughts, philosophies and weird ideas on how new and old could be blended.

It was received by the powers that be with much praise.

Then nothing.

Weeks passed. A follow-up was ignored. When this new organization stepped out into the limelight by breaking one of the fundamental rules of online life, I politely contacted them to explain the error. Still nothing.

There was no break-up letter. Not even the polite corporate-like "we've decided to go in another direction" missive. Just nothing.

The threshold was passed and the painful reality realized.

Those in the traditional media see us like a new leather jacket or new boots they acquire to blend in while venturing to the new hip part of town. Once they return home, the pajamas and slippers slide back on and the new duds are tossed in the back of the closet - perhaps never seen again.

The reality is they have never accepted us and they never will.

Each of us will confront this fact in our usual individual ways but my confrontation has passed and my own conclusion reached.

I will never be an accessory again.

And The Answer Is...

No.

After much consideration, I've decided to not run for House District 82.

Although I was overwhelmed by the support and encouragement of friends and family, it is just not the right time in my life to cross the fence from the land of the policy observers to the land of policy makers.

I wish whoever runs for the 82nd much luck and, of course, I'll be watching closely.

As for the future. You'll just have to wait and see.

The Best Of The Drifts - Politics and Gambling

Originally published October 31, 2007

Water From A Stone

The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life, but violence overwhelms the mouth of the wicked. ~Proverbs 10:11

28, 26, 25, 24.

These are numbers that have haunted me for the past day. Normally, the only numbers I count are the ones I discuss with my favorite degenerate gambler friend on Thursday night as we wait, like two dogs slobbering over a bone, for the kickoff of the first college game. Do you take the over on the game and sweat through the first quarter when both offenses look like feeble junior varsity teams, do you dare call at half time to take the teaser second half line or do you just throw all you money at the nearest stumbling drunk and scream at him to call out random keno numbers?

At least football makes some sense. Unlike politics.

Politics is a loser. It will suck you in, drag you along and then crush you like the strange twisted ways of an 8th grade bra clasp. The man who tells you he knows the ways of politics is the worst kind of charlatan. He should not only be ridden out on of town on a rail but also should be shaved bare and left naked at the edge of a bee farm.

But bets have to be made and numbers have to be called. And only those who cannot resist the tug are awake when decent people are asleep, mumbling incoherently about the spread that they should have seen and the junk of the hard facts intruding on the voodoo behind their picks.

The worst bastard in the world is the one who crows at the bar about how he called the sure lock of the century while poor hopheads who spent their last rent check on some horrible deceit like South Florida start chewing at the brass bar fittings.

Politics. God help us all. At least the bookies win on the games. Hell, nobody wins at this awful thing that is politics. We chew around the edges hoping to nibble off just enough to sustain the vig.

The only safe bet is football. At least on those treacherous fields, the only ones who get hurt are the next generation. Lord knows, you read the bones wrong on this thing called politics and we might all be awash in gap-toothed carnies until the wheel circles again and bathes us all in the fires of Megiddo.

The Best Of The Drifts - Elizabeth Edwards and Cancer

Originally published March 23, 2007

It's one of those of driving off a cliff moments. It's a statement you never expect so you never plan. Birth, marriage and even death carry stock responses stored in the brain for years in expectation they will one day be used. But even the most careful planner spends no time pondering what to say when a loved one tells you they have cancer.

It can come in the morning. It can come in the middle of the day. It can come at night. With no doubt, it will come when you are performing some mundane task which will suddenly have no significance. It can even come as you search for a particular restaurant that will satisfy a sudden craving for a particular type of pizza. Suddenly, the phone rings and you are hit with the most unexpected of utterances. Do you say good luck? Do you ask what you can do? Do you tamp down the sudden dread in order to say everything will be okay? If you are driving, do you pull to the side of the road? Do you stay strong because the person needs the support or do you simply begin to sob? As the surface areas of the brain struggle for the appropriate reaction, deep within, the internal voice whispers that no matter what you say, life has changed irrevocably.

Thoughts of a certain need for a specific type of pizza are immediately deleted from the queue and the most basic portions of the lizard brain sieze control of the body forcing it to attend to the need for sustenanace and nothing more. You find yourself robotically pulling into a drive through to order a pre-packaged meal of questionable value but infinite ease. The body knows food is a necessity but at this particular moment no longer a luxury to enjoy. It may have the taste of the cardboard of its packaging but it moves the body forward while the brain catches up.

Eventually, most people come around to one universal response. I'll be there as soon as I can.

Despite the cameras, the press gaggle, the harsh lights, the sputteringly inconsistent microphones, despite the differences in station of life, I was there with John and Elizabeth Edwards yesterday as they announced her cancer has returned. It is not hard for me to imagine the previous 24 hours. People often morbidly joke about the stages of grief but few understand cancer is the grief that arrives too early. There is despair. There is hope. There is the clinical analysis. There is the need to know exactly what is happening. There is the need to know exactly what is going to happen. Each on their own find the small corner of mind containing the mechanism of self-defense that allows the life to go on even when life seems impossible.

In the end all find hope. Even if it is the smallest whisper, we all put on the "brave face" and move forward. We face our family. We face our friends. In the case of public figures, we face the unwavering stare of the press.

I do not pray, but I do believe all souls are connected in ways we may never understand. Time and space hold no bounds to the power of human need.

I was not in Chapel Hill yesterday, but I was with John and Elizabeth Edwards.

Peace Be With You

Now let me suggest first that if we are to have peace on earth, our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Our loyalties must transcend our race, our tribe, our class, and our nation; and this means we must develop a world perspective. No individual can live alone; no nation can live alone, and as long as we try, the more we are going to have war in this world. Now the judgment of God is upon us, and we must either learn to live together as brothers or we are all going to perish together as fools ~Martin Luther King's "A Christmas Sermon On Peace"

I believe I've stirred the pot enough this week. In the words of the immortal Charlie Gearhart, "peace be with you".

Your regular snarkmaster will return next week with the Top Ten Blog Stories of the Year.

Into The Ethical Woods - Griftdrift Edition

I've been bothered all day.

On the personal side, you may have noticed, I've been stepping further away from politics lately. A combination of shifting priorities and the sheer ugliness is driving me away from my favorite past time. It has been a quiet relinquishment - a slow break up.

But like a moth to the flame the Richardson story followed now by the possible Cagle story sucked me back in. What today has taught me is I do not like these stories. I wish I could rend the flesh of my prey the way my idol did back in the day, but I just don't have it in me. These are real people - not pieces on a political chess board as some would have. The universe has balance and I believe it does not take kindly to those who attempt to rise by climbing a pile of bodies.

As a writer, I've entered murky territory. In the past, I have prided myself that I've only published stories that I believed would stand up to scrutiny by the professional reporting class. Now, I find myself publishing a story no one on that side of the fence appears eager to touch (at least not yet). I know they've got it. I know they have everything I have and probably more.

Here's the fact which cannot be casually passed - even though I argue that a non-professional can report a story accurately and with relevance, there is a difference between a blog seen by a few hundred people daily and a media outlet that is seen by tens of thousands if not millions. I have the power to be an annoyance. They have the power to bring down a government. You have to respect this reality.

Dozens of times today, I've questioned if I should have published. My conclusion is although I may have dipped below my usual standards and certainly the standards of the professional class, there is fire beneath that smoke.

Bottom line - I stand by what I wrote.

To those in places of power who I know are regular readers, if you think I'm wrong, I'll be glad to hear it (off the record of course). You know how to reach me.

If you, my other readers, do not think this is correct or moral or professional, you have the same choices which have always been available - chastise me publicly, chastise me privately, continue reading but think less of me or stop reading all together. It is the risk I take every time I apply word to virtual paper and one which will not daunt me from facing the heat and light future stories may bring.

The Favorites

They march down the tiled halls of power, boldly into the very heart of Democracy and drag their shockingly docile victims into side rooms for the figurative beat down. ~griftdrift

My ten favorites from over the years.

Thugs

The In Between

The Response

Clouds And Clods In Perry

The First "In Which I Hate On Everyone"

The Porn Wars: The Love Shack Gets Little Love

Choices

A Life Shattered

An Accessory

The Baseball Series

Break's Over

If Andrew Sullivan can do it, so can I. Now, it's time to get back on the horse. Some of you have been acting very crazy in my absence...

The Preachin' Will Continue

How do you reach the brink?

You get into arguments with loons. You try to wrap your head around the fact that one of the best writers in town thinks it is valuable to link to one of the biggest hacks in town. You forget certain venues have only a veneer of honesty, not honesty itself.

How do you step back?

You remember the reasoned conservatism of a Jason Pye. You remember the reasoned liberalism of a Johnathan McGinty. You find a laugh at the weird journeys of Doug Richards. You remember there are places such as Like The Dew where the long form is still valued. You remember this town has a nest of quality writers (if they survive the gasping rattles of Rosebud clutching meglamaniacs). You remember there are places that care only about their community and the rest of the nonsense be damned.

Now, I'm going to preach a bit. And it will be pompous. If that ain't your cup of tea, feel free to exit the chapel now.

When I started this thing three years ago, it was a place to regenerate my long dormant need to write. Still is. But somewhere along the way (probably during Genarlow Wilson thing) it growed up into something else. It became consumed with the idea that this new medium could be something more - that we could elevate the conversation.

Last Friday, I was ready to call that grand experiment a failure. I became convinced the snot noses who insisted it was nothing more than a child's toy, painted with lead, covered with sharp edges and parts harmful if swallowed, were right.

But agreeing with people I know are wrong is just not in my nature. Moments on the internet sometimes seem an eternity and the aged internet warrior understands, when faced with these singularities of certainty, the best strategy is to retreat to the sheltering woods of reality before seeking the light once again.

Friday, I believed I was wrong and was prepared to shutter my windows. Today, I emerge from the woods still believing I was wrong, but only because I was answering the wrong question.

The correct answer to the correct question is "we must do better".

We will never rid this world of the hyperpartisans, the shrill screechers, the mythmakers, the peddlers of perfidy, but we should strive to contain them. Those of us who believe this world can be something more must continue to dredge channels around their lands. We must dream of a place where they are isolated, left to their lonely howls on islands of madness.

Until that day comes, the experiment will continue because the conclusion has yet to be rendered.

I Don't Know

Most of my writing process is internal. I outline and edit and re-edit over and over in my mind. The process allows me to jackhammer the keys and spew forth a thousand words in minutes.

I've been processing something for the past two days and still have not "published". Doug once told me that when you have a block it is because you are fighting with yourself about something. Wise words from a seasoned writer to a slightly less seasoned writer.

And the thing that I am fighting against is the conclusion of this embryonic piece.

I cannot avoid the fact that I was wrong.

I will leave the madness behind and retreat to the place where simplicity usually provides clarity.

When I return, hopefully, the piece will write itself and a decision will be made.

Until then, I don't know.

What I've Learned

It's day one at Drifting Through The Grift. I will probably spend most of the day setting up all the bells and whistles around the place but I thought a little introduction is in order...You may call me griftdrift. ~March27, 2006

It's not an anniversary but I feel the need for reflection. Drifting Through The Grift has been a great adventure over the last three years and don't worry, it will continue. At times, I marvel at the places I've been, the things I've seen and the things I've learned.

Rusty hates lists but I like them. Here are the thoughts which have been percolating in my brain for the last few days.

On Blogging and Writing

• I've stopped referring to myself as a blogger. It feels stale and limiting
• I've begun referring to myself as a writer although at times, it feels too pretentious
• Blogging brings great discipline and every writer needs great discipline
• I'm terrible at self-promotion. I probably should get 3 times the traffic I do but I don't hawk myself like I should.
  
• Inspiration comes from the oddest places
• Every writer knows the frustration of writing a great piece and having it wither on the vine. I can write what I think is my best and hear crickets. I write three sentences about a drunk on a lawnmower and get 20 comments
• There are a many great writers in this town and they often make me feel inadequate
• I always wanted to be Hunter S. Thompson but I've learned that my own voice is more valuable than mimcry
• Most people point to this piece as their favorite (a sociology professor even read it to his class)
• This piece is my favorite
  
• I'm rededicating myself to writing. Including finally working on the novel I've sketched out over the last three years
• Two years later, "Porn Hunt" is still the top search term to hit my blog
  

On Citizen Journalism

• It is possible but it's really hard
• Professional journalists do it well and they have to do it well every single time
• I believe the ultimate point that some professional journalists miss is people attempting citizen journalism attempt to mimic the standards set by the professionals because of their great admiration for the profession
• It still amazes me how easy it is to just take a pad and pen and just go someplace or call someone - from the Georgia Supreme Court to talking to a legislator
• That's the easy part. Putting together a piece that is both informative and entertaining is the hard part. And let me re-emphasize, the professional journalist has to do it every single time.
• We're doing a good job but we could be doing more. We need more coverage of the City of Atlanta. Especially with the Mayor's race
• The bottom line is if your interested, pick up a pen and pad or a recorder or a camera and hit the streets. The stories won't wait on you.

On Traditional vs. New Media

• On the positive side, when I consider the conversations two years ago at the APC compared to more recent conversations, I'm encouraged
• On the negative side, there are still many in the traditional media or transitioning from the traditional media who are blind to the rich new media culture in Atlanta
• It is telling that the person who greets me without judgment at every event we both attend is a 30+ year veteran of political reporting while the nastiest fight I've ever experienced was with a 30-something staff writer at the AJC. Sometimes we need to re-assess our own judgments
• I will continue to point to places like inDecatur, DecaturMetro and DriveAFasterCar until I'm blue in the face because I believe if anyone is close to figuring the whole thing out it is them.
• I still believe the niche market is the savior of news
• I believe the TV news has the best chance to survive as meta-news because pictures are still more compelling
• But I believe the pictures would be even more compelling if they were backed by well-written copy and connections to the local
• The "blogs don't fact check/spew untruths/have no standards" meme still drives me crazy. If you find yourself saying this, realize your peddling philosophy from five years ago and you will be judged accordingly
• The influx of outstanding, experienced writers into the community is a huge positive. Now, we just need to help them engage.
• My theory that once a journalist is dragged kicking and screaming into the blog world, they become addicted holds true. Mark Bradley is the latest proof
  
• My personal "gets it" hierarchy goes like this: Creative Loafing>Athens Banner Herald>AJC
• Creative Loafing was the first to embrace the community and still the best at engaging the community
• Athens Banner Herald moved from picking on commentors to becoming the most willing to engage in "the conversation".
  
• For all my criticism, I like the AJC redesign and think they are possibly now moving in the right direction
• This fact will not prevent me from laying into them when they something stupid in the future. And they will.
• I still owe Andisheh Nouraee a bowl of pizza sauce
• I still claim Blake Aued owes me a beer

On Politics

• There's always something crazy
• It has to be really crazy for most people outside the insiders to care
• It is very easy to get sucked into the inside baseball aspects
• Most legislators are nice. Shocking but true. It is always good to remember this fact when you worry your caricatures go too far.
• But some of them are mean as snakes and would walk a country mile to slap a mule if they thought it would get them votes, money or power.
• Sen. David Shafer is a bit of a nerd but that also makes him invaluable in wonk talks. I learned more about Grady from him in 30 minutes than I learned in dozens of media pieces
• Up close, Dale Cardwell is a little scary
• Jim Martin has the passion in him and I sometimes wonder if he's just getting bad advice on his image
• Josh Lanier is a little crazy but it's the good kind of crazy. And he thinks its funny when I talk about him collecting tip jars from filling stations
• Rand Knight could have a bright political future but humility is a word that needs to be learned
  
• I'm frequently reminded of an old Playboy cartoon where a madame is talking to one of her young ladies of the evening and she says, "I know, dear, Democrats are more fun but Republicans have more money"
• The first time I attended a Democrat event, someone was passing out jello shots
• I've yet to attend a big Republican event. I'm not sure why. They are a secretive bunch
• Bobby at Manuels swore to me he was retiring before the next President election. I told him, "You can't do that!". He looked me in the eye and said, "Watch me"

On The Personal

• Three years ago, I was intentionally unemployed and set off to explore writing, politics and the country
• In those three years, I've published over 2300 entries, travelled to nearly every state east of the Mississippi and chased political stories to Perry, Cumming, Athens, Moultrie, the Capitol, the Georgia Supreme Court and even a porn shop
• Three years later, I'm back in the software industry but I'm still chasing stories
• Possibly for that reason, I find myself being pulled more to the web/tech/entrepeneur side of social media instead of writing/journalism/politics side
• I'm still going to chase stories because I'm a writer and that's what a writer does.

I'm proud my writing, my advocacy of the local blog community and the product I've produced over the past three years. But what makes me happiest is the people I've met, the places I've seen and the education both have provided. This little experiment doubled my circle of friends and my exposure to worlds I'd never experienced cannot be quantified. And those will always stay with me. Even if blogger or blogs or new media or whatever the next iteration is called goes tango uniform.

Thanks to all who've provided so much.

Now.

The adventure continues.

My Morning

Kill him ~McCain/Palin supporter

Outstanding ~Front page of Peach Pundit on the news that Troy Davis will die

Just as certain as the dog days of August or the arrival of September’s harvest moon, the staple of every election cycle arrives at our doorstep. It’s called: Scare the ignorant. ~Atlanta Journal Consitituion Assistant Editorial Page Editor Jim Wooten's view of the tactics of Democrats

There are days when ghosts seem to swirl in the air.

Do we see clearly or do we see what we desire to see? Does watching a documentary on the newest section of Arlington National Cemetary cause ruminations of death? Does a coincidental viewing of a fictional parent's death stir something deeper? Is there something not yet in the realm of science which binds together existential experience?

I wish I could write the piece I feel the need to write. It's in there somewhere but I don't know if it refuses to emerge due to my need to not share too deeply or simply because I can't find the words. One day I will write about death and fear. Because writing is what I do.

For now, I will simply say this - fear is not proprietary to one side or the other, nor should it be peddled like a wormy apple and death should never be treated lightly.