CPAC: After-Action Report I

The American Spectator expects vast depths of wisdom in a few hours, and thus there is no time now to report — much less explain — all the magic (and tragic) things that happened at CPAC.

Barbara Espinosa observed this morning at breakfast that I had blogged practically nothing since arriving at the fabulous Marriott Wardman Park Hotel and that most of the blogging had been done by Smitty. Absolutely true. The reason is that the Internet connection provided in Bloggers Lounge was inadequate to the load . (“Craptastic,” to quote one source who shall remain unnamed.) Once the entire blog corps was logged on — streaming video, etc. — the slow connection speed rendered it quite nearly impossible for me to post anything. Smitty could explain the technicalities, but all I could do is curse my miserable fate, for which I blame Erik Telford.

Smitty himself was compelled to used his own ad hoc method (employing his iPhone as a modem) in order to score a reliable Internet connection, but I was screwed, blued and tattooed. That was why, for example, this blog never even linked my Friday column for the American Spectator:

Late Wednesday night at the Marriott Wardman Park Hotel, the elevator doors opened and a well-dressed man entered. “Excuse me, but you look familiar,” I said.
“Marco… Marco Rubio,” said the Florida Republican whose Senate campaign has become a crusade for conservatives.
Bumping into a Republican candidate isn’t exactly difficult at this week’s Conservative Political Action Conference. At times it seems that every other person you meet in the hallway is running for Congress, or on the campaign staff of someone who is.
In the corridor next to the hotel lobby Thursday, retired Army Lt. Col. Allen West was talking about the “fantastic momentum” of his congressional campaign in Florida’s 22nd District. In the Bloggers Lounge, I’m handed a card promoting Liz Carter, a Republican candidate in Georgia’s 4th District, which in 2008 voted 75 percent for Democrat Rep. Hank Johnson. On the sidewalk outside the hotel, David Ratowitz displays his new shoes — having worn out three pairs during his successful campaign to win the GOP nomination in Illinois’ 5th District, which voted by more than 2-to-1 for Democrat Rep. Michael Quigley in an April 2009 special election to replace Rahm Emanuel, now President Obama’s chief of staff. . . .

You can read the rest of that, and I apologize that you weren’t able to read it here earlier. By Friday afternoon, frustrated with the craptasticity of the Internet connection — I’m not complaining, just explaining — I pretty much stopped trying to blog anything.  If you can’t do what you want to do, however, it’s important to do what you can. So I decided that the best thing I could do was to record corral candidates, advocates and celebrities (like Andrew Breitbart), shepherding them to the Bloggers Lounge for interviews, etc. This service seemed to be appreciated by all involved.

Next year . . . ah, well, Smitty and I are working on our “Pinky & the Brain” scheme to own CPAC next year. First, however, there are those vast depths of wisdom to be explored. Meanwhile, since it is Rule 5 Sunday, please enjoy the loveliness of Dalhalla, occasional co-blogger with Dan Collins at Piece of Work in Progress and also an enthusiastic supporter of New Jersey 12th District congressional candidate Mike Halfacre.

Dahlhalla reports some (but by no means all) of her CPAC adventures, and we are glad Dan Collins has made a speedy recovery from his recent illness.

CPAC: Glenn Beck

by Smitty

Last night I went down to the floor to take in Glenn Beck’s closing remarks. What a great speech. It was a fine bookend to George Will’s previous priestly posturings. Rather than look back and be self-congratulatory in his wisdom, Beck looked forward, rather graphically at times, towards the hangover helper the country requires.

Uncoverage.net owes me $1 for betting that Governor Palin would not introduce Beck. Still too soon.

I’ll be back later today with the usual Rule 5 goodness.

CPAC: Blogger Row Hotness Report

by Smitty

Any lefty politicians in California are feeling a tremendous amount of heat from Uncoverage.net. J’s knowledge of the California political landscape is encyclopedic. Seeing her interact with everyone from Andrew Breitbart to Chuck DeVore was truly inspirational. Passionate blogging at its finest.

Pity the opposition. J. doesn't have the time.

The Protocols of the Elders of CTHULHU XXIV. The Trimphal Arrival (Conclusion)

by Smitty (INTRODUCTION)

The remaining eight were frozen to their chairs in their filth, except me. None made a sound. Deep gloom swallowed Lake Totenkopf.
A longitudinal crack appeared in the table, right down the middle. Athwart that, connecting the vertices marking the head of the table, appeared a second crack, so that the table was quartered like a Swedish flag.
I pulled back the pad, and kept scribbling in my lap. The four quarters of the tabletop fell inward, hinged at the edge.
The speaker exited the room, while the eight living attendees sat frozen in their chairs, more or less literally.
Tentacles emerged from the darkness within the table. They ended in a mouth full of parallel rows of teeth, below which was an eye, below which began the suction cups. Water was dripping in all directions. Cold water. Barely above freezing.
Some of the tentacles struck quickly, punching through a head or torso, painting the walls and window with gore. Grinding and bone crunching sounds filled the air, plus the occasional snap of a tendon.
There were no screams, rhyme, or reason to the mayhem. The victims stared, in a combination of shock, hypothermia, and disbelief. Some tentacles caressed or wrapped a victim. These seemed to meet their demise and consumption with something resembling pleasure.
Except for me. I can’t move. I have the attention of four tentacles. One devoures the left leg, the other the right, the third his left arm, while the fourth tentacle holds the pad steady.
The three devouring tentacles reach my torso more or less at the same time. The suddenness of it all on cold flesh had delayed the effects of shock and blood loss, flesh cannot take this, and, at last, I feel myself give

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A Camera Survives Me

by Smitty

Andrew Ian Dodge has a shot of the Blogger Cage. I’m in the front row, the splash of white in front of the open door on the far wall.

For 2011, assuming the world hasn’t ended, I’m going to have to get out a bit more.