tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76759472011-07-14T20:33:58.162-04:00Jim Van Nostrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12244561350886559296noreply@blogger.comBlogger121100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1091227729758767702004-07-30T18:36:00.000-04:002004-08-06T11:05:00.766-04:00

So after reading the coverage of John Kerry's speech in the Times and the Post and the Globe, I was ready to speak with a tough critic who used to make peanut butter sandwiches for Gene McCarthy. "Of course I watched," my mother said. "He was won-da-ful." (Before you go sweeping for bias, my father went for Nixon that year.) This was the same John Kerry who has represented my mother's state

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1091115178931798162004-07-29T11:09:00.000-04:002004-07-30T06:23:22.710-04:00

Maybe it was chianti in the North End last night, but I'm starting to see things. Outside my hotel, the Omni Parker House, two groups of protesters line the sidewalk, barely distinguishable. There's the 20 or so well-dressed folks with Bush-Cheney `04 placards, chanting "Four More Years" and the "Billionaires for Bush," decked in top hats and party gowns, toasting profits and chanting "Four More

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090964398611458302004-07-27T17:28:00.000-04:002004-07-27T18:08:43.006-04:00

The "Free Speech" area became so inhospitable today -- from the screeching microphone reverb to the vacuum truck spraying waves of dirt on spectators -- that by 2 p.m., even the 9 1/2 foot Gandhi had had enough. Jes Richardson, a Havertown-bred peace activist, pulled the giant symbol of tolerance to a quieter spot outside the pen, and wondered why the street cleaner had continued even after

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090905039834058172004-07-27T00:50:00.000-04:002004-07-27T16:34:51.173-04:00

Finally hit one of these famous parties. The club Felt was hosting the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, and once past the giant ice sculptures dispensing vodka martinis, we worked our way downstairs to hear a fairly spicy bar band: Los Lobos. Ten feet away. Close enough to pull sax player Steve Berlin's ZZ Top beard. You had a United Farm Workers organizer line dancing with the New Mexico

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090870994301408812004-07-26T15:29:00.000-04:002004-07-26T17:00:12.563-04:00

It wasn't exactly "The Anarchists' Convention," that old John Sayles short story that reminded me of my family dinners - 14 seats and 20 arguments. But the Blogger's Breakfast did gather a world of lone voices in one room where they clinked china, greeted the rising stars among them and got to hear praise from Howard Dean and advice from Walter Mears. Dean got a standing ovation, which is

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090775455438789982004-07-25T12:55:00.000-04:002004-07-26T14:15:41.933-04:00

The First Amendment is on vivid display outside the Park Street T station, six ladies introducing themselves as the latest in entertainment from Crawford, Texas. "Shop in the name of war," they sing, these bikini-clad sirens in red, white and blue wigs, feathers, furs and prominent ballistic codpieces. Their name is a rhyme of Dixie Chicks, the first word being "missile." Their homage to the

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090730636019930112004-07-25T00:23:00.000-04:002004-07-25T09:10:59.936-04:00

The bashes started tonight, and the Boston Globe held the biggest, if not the most exclusive -- local and visiting media milling about as soul food and lobster snacks arrived at their tables as if by magic. The new convention center's doors swung open at 9 p.m., revealing a ferris wheel, an electric car, and after a while, none other than Little Richard. He was having a hard night. Behind him,

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090631066402153342004-07-23T20:42:00.000-04:002004-07-25T00:15:54.600-04:00

Outside the Fleet Center, as the media swarm arrives and the sidewalks are so hot you could broil a lobster, a silver pick-up truck bears the bumper sticker: "Bush '04. Four more wars." I can't tell whose side the driver is on. Yeah, I remember the Republicans chanting "Four More Years" for Nixon in '72, but this guy's not serious is he? More easy to paint was the geezer at the Porter

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090526873266243812004-07-22T15:48:00.000-04:002004-07-25T00:21:39.180-04:00

"Hi. Want to help us defeat Bush?" "Hi. Want to help us defeat Bush?" That's one of the siren calls outside the Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square - a half dozen sunny youths stopping sweat-soaked pedestrians in an effort to get them to 1. register to vote 2. vote. 3. give money. Another siren call came from a grizzled guy carrying a large cross: "I am not afraid!" he shared in a grave baritone.

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090469025709811902004-07-21T23:46:00.000-04:002004-07-25T00:26:18.403-04:00

Had some time for history, so I dropped by the corner of Park and Beacon, where in 1890 my great-grandfather Phillip Weiner had opened his antique shop. It stayed in the family through three generations, until my cousin Paul died. This is where my grandmother, one night just before closing,  trembled as two men well-dressed men came down the stairs and into the shop.  One asked about all the

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090445327162279322004-07-21T17:11:00.000-04:002004-07-25T00:30:25.456-04:00

Touched down in Boston, and right away did the sort of reporting that bloggers are criticized for not doing: a little gumshoeing. As I was walking to Quincy Market for a slice of Regina's Pizza, I almost ran into a woman wearing an "Impeach Bush" sign around her neck. Hand-lettered. I called after her, but she kept walking. "Miss? Miss with the 'Impeach Bush' sign?" This got her turning and I

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7675947.post-1090352484452234522004-07-20T15:15:00.000-04:002004-07-25T00:33:14.433-04:00

Supposed to be arriving at Logan on Wednesday to begin 10 days of writing about the Democratic National Convention, and so we'll soon see whether Boston feels like old Belgrade, but in English.  The place is supposed to be locked-down. Reporters are getting hostile-environment training. My biggest worry is glad-handers. Ever since wandering into a theater party in college, I have been frightened

Daniel Rubinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03568111648267225982noreply@blogger.com