Just because I'm blogging less does not mean you should visit less. It means you should visiit more. And send me more money. And buy ads.

I mean, if there's going to be any wealth-spreading going on, it should be via my tip jar. [Suddenly I'm smacking my forehead, realizing that if I'd only pretended to support Obama over the last two years I could have been in a great position to apply for some sort of NEA grant:

"Blogging as Art for Art's Sake."

"The Blog: Performance Art for the Unattractive?"

"Anais Nin vs. Ben Stein: Who Was History's First Blogger?"

"The Diaries of Virginia Woolf, Translated into Today's. Blogging. Patois."

"The Housewife as Insurrectionist: Erica Jong's 'Blood in the Streets' as a Metaphor for the Ancient Struggle Between Woman and Uterus."

"Blogging Families Such as the Reynolds-Smiths versus the Brontes: Who Is, Ultimately, More Fly?"

"Why Would We Want to Televise the Revolution, When We Can Probably Find It on You Tube and Embed Our Favorite Footage Into Our Web Sites?"

"The Madwoman in Cyberspace: How Patriarchy Deprived Women of Rooms of Their Own, Leading to the Weblog as a Creative Imperative."]

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:55 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I mean, I left L.A. last Tuesday. And tomorrow all these Bear-Flag-Come-Latelies will arrive in the Las Vegas/Henderson area. They'll take my favorite spot at the phone-bank table. They'll drink the coffee, and eat the nicest of the sandwiches and sugary snacks before I get to them. They'll take the choiciest areas for knocking door-to-door.

They'll hog the water. They'll take up my favorite corners for doing yoga and T'ai Chi during breaks, and they'll do the wrong kinds of yoga and T'ai Chi.

They will steal my yogurt out of the fridge.

I hate them already, and they aren't even here yet.

Stupid Californians; who invited them?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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My father insisted today that I take a break from "getting old white men to vote" today, and return his phone call.

Before I leave the table I tell my cohorts about my father's line. The one person at the table who is white, male, and past the conventional retirement age says, "tell him you're sitting across from an Air Force Veteran his own age who thinks he should vote for McCain."

I smile. "I'm not sure you know what makes the old man tick," I remark.

Out in the parking lot I find myself a nice place on a curb and punch in Dad's code on the cell phone. "I'd sure like to see you this weekend, if you'll be back," he tells me.

"Ah. But I'm not going back until after the election, like I told you. That's why I went over the night before I left," I remind him. (I refrain from telling him that this is one of the reasons I left a several hours later than I really wanted to, and ended up spending the night in Primm, Nevada, on the way out here; I had to pack that morning, alongside my traditional try-to-clean-up-the-house-on-the-day-I-leave idiocy.)

"So, you're getting people to vote for Sarah Palin," he remarks. "She's just so . . . pretty."

"You know, Dad," I tell him, "if you vote for McCain, you'll be seeing a lot more of her on the news and in various magazines and newspapers. Not that I'd want you to make such a serious decision for such a superficial reason. But I'd hate to see you stuck looking at pictures of Barack Obama and Joe Biden for the next four years."

"Furthermore," I continue, "the Governor wears skirts more than she does pantsuits, so the average consumer of news would see a lot more leg with her than they would have with Senator Clinton."

He seems to be wavering. "Her legs are nice," he tells me.

"There's also the fact that if she and McCain win this one, the contest will be between Palin and Mrs. Clinton in 2012. Wouldn't that make the debates more fun?" I ask.

"Maybe. Will they be held in hot oil?"

I move in for the kill: "Not in real life. But with computer graphics, there will still be video of it happening in hot oil, and it should look perfectly realistic."

The only thing that could go wrong now is if my stepmother accompanies my dad to the voting booth in order to "help" him. Of course, it's just the Golden State, so what he does won't matter on the Big Battleground.

But still . . . . I would like to have made the sale.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:01 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Economics and theology from one of the most talented Classical Liberals out there, Alfonzo—the proprietor of Macho Sauce Productions. (Who is starting to be referred to simply as Macho Sauce himself. Why not? Alice Cooper was originally the name of a band.)

I know, I know: everyone complains about the hat. I like the hat. (Of course I like the hat; I've got one a bit like it.)

But the tile and the echo still bug me: I want to see Zo in a real studio, with better acoustics. That way, everyone can accuse him of "selling out." And there will be yet another golden goose out there, laying eggs that enrichen all our lives.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:36 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Schwarzenegger mocks the Obama-bod.

It may hurt worse if Sarah takes off one of her borrowed jackets and offers to arm-wrestle Big Zero. (Or, worse, decide the contest by shooting hoops against him: Palin is shorter than I am, and we all know who would win that contest.)

Via Insty.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:05 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The Seattle Stranger
1535 11th Ave., Third Floor
Seattle, Washington, 98122

Please do not plaster their offices with McCain stickers, or hang Joe Biden in effigy outside the building.

Via Moonbattery, via Ace.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:14 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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But it's okay; he did it in an upper-crust fashion.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:55 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Apparently, he knows some of my husband's family out in Chicago. What a brave young man.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:51 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Last night, the Heaths (Sarah Palin's parents) and the Palins (Todd's parents) stopped by the Clark County Republican Headquarters. It was quite the distraction. I'd make a few calls, and then get up to get my picture taken with them, then make more calls, etc.

As I write this, Governor Mitt Romney is stopping by to help with precinct walking.

Saturday, Mayor Giuliani will be there in the evening; I'll probably miss it, due to a social engagement.

And on Monday, Governor Palin will be appearing in Reno (and another Northern Nevada town I don't recall the name of), while McCain holds a rally here.

I know people are sick to death of getting nagged. But my job is to nag them; there's no other way to make sure that people vote, other than to remind them that it has to be done.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:47 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 Well, best of luck. Missouri might be a better bet, though.

Posted by: Christophe at October 31, 2008 03:38 PM (2rBIo)

2 Don't count your Messiahs before they're hatched.

Posted by: Attila Girl at October 31, 2008 11:25 PM (ayS6b)

3 "Fool me once, shame on you." Familiar with that expression, Azmat? The shame is on the pranksters, not the person that is skeptical, but non-offensive friendly, and engaging. Maybe the Sûreté should interview those Montreal clowns about that hack into his personal bank account.

Posted by: Darrell at November 02, 2008 08:17 AM (WLXEf)

4 Are you saying that their bank accounts were hacked by the likes of you? non-offensive? more like clueless, you would think that one would get a clue when your biography is called _______ Palin.

Posted by: azmat Hussain at November 02, 2008 02:36 PM (9mcr7)

5 I have no rebuttal, Darrell you win, I don't know exactly what but you win! Care to make a side bet on the election tomorrow, tell you what, I will take McCain and Palin for the right price. Any amount you win will be donated through LMA. Cheers, Az

Posted by: azmat hussain at November 03, 2008 04:03 PM (ZVMDn)

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Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:39 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . right here.

Via Hackbarth, who probably already has his on order.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:45 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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It might be fake, but it strikes me as perfectly accurate.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:38 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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According to D.C. Thornton, they wouldn't have been nearly as funny: just depressing.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:32 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I agree with Insty: this would have been the best counterpoint.

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I'm snugged up in the home of a prominent Nevada blogger, who may or may not want to own up to having one of the black sheep of the b-sphere in his guest digs. (I think my husband had a full FBI-level background check done on The Gentleman Blogger before permitting me to stay here; A the H was deeply reassured that a mutual friend of all three of ours with a military intel background gave my host the thumbs up.)

So far, Gentleman Blogger has fed me bitchin' lasagne and given me the most essential information about politicking in Clark County:

a) It is not a taboo to refer to Las Vegas as "Vegas." (Not at all analogous to referring to San Francisco as "Frisco," which is a fun parlor trick for Californians who want to see their Bay Area relatives flip out. Try it some time.) Some locals say "Vegas," and some do not. Personal preference.

b) It is unacceptable to refer to the state as "NevAHda," as GB and I both did, instinctively. (That could be an "educators-in-the-family" thing, or a California native thing.) The locals taught him, and he taught me, that the first "a" should sound like the "a" in "dad."

Nice to get to talk to GB a bit tonight, since they'll keep me busy at McCain HQ all week. There are several of us volunteering from California, and even a few who travelled up from Arizona. ("An army of us from nearby states, who want to help you turn Ne-vatta red.")

This state is so important; this election is so important. If it weren't for the unions' stranglehold on Las Vegas, it would be a slam-dunk for McCain . . . but Las Vegas is, they tell me, considered an integral part of the state. One citizen I spoke with today said the whole thing would be a cinch if it weren't for the city of Vegas. "Well, yes," I replied. "And California's electoral votes would go elsewhere if we could surgically remove Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Oakland from it. Not that that would be fiscally prudent."

"Yup. The day I moved here from SF was the happiest day of my life," he affirmed.

"Well, we may be right behind you, once my husband retires," I told him.

Of course, no one seems to be asking what a carbon-correct version of The Strip would look like. I understand that Al Gore has been fantasizing about a "sublte," "toned-down" version of Las Vegas Blvd. that offers the tourist more of a "starry evening sky" effect . . . he's been consulting with Sarah Palin about whether a "Northern Lights" vibe would be classier and ultimately more compelling than all these tacky incandescent bulbs. Good luck with that, Al.

As to the work at hand, I've discovered that:

• I'm decent on the phones, except unable to properly cut short conversations with the uber-patriotic and the elderly; I tend to burn up "too much company time" telling them that if they are disabled and cannot travel to Henderson to help, the national phone banks may have campaign work that they can do from home, or, finally (with the very elderly, and very chatty) to explain that we're all praying very hard, too, and the race is neck-and-neck, if one accounts for crazy poll methodologies. "So keep the television off, and keep praying. Talk to your friends, relatives, and neighbors whom you might be able to persuade."

Of course, since I'm a volunteer no one has said a critical word, but I feel like I should be able to get through my calling lists more quickly, and entice more people to commit to some "get out the vote" time. I'm considering the "Jewish mother" approach: "I drove out from L.A. to spend nearly a week doing this, and you can't commit to three hours of precinct-walking this Friday? For people like you, I'm pouring my heart and soul into a campaign for a guy who isn't even quite libertarian enough for my taste?"

Then I'd tell them they need to eat more, and that they are breaking my heart.

• I'm fine on the door-to-door stuff. One has to balance the fact that I tend to get lost a lot (especially since my sunglasses aren't prescription-level, due to my cheap streak) against the fact that I'm learning (ever-so-slowly) to sweet-talk my way into the "guarded communities" (even tougher to get into than the "gated communities").

If all goes well I'll take off a little time to visit Attila the Hub's cousins on Saturday afternoon. It's a delicate matter, since a few of his relatives have defected to the Other Side lately, and we don't know if they have. (I doubt it; he's retired LAPD. Also, A the H's relatives trend as conservative as mine do liberal. Even in voting . . . I know there are California propositions that A the H and I voted on differently, and that's not even counting the gay marriage thing. Shockingly, we disagree as to when public monies might legitimately go to certain types of infrastructure.)

And if I can sneak away briefly on Sunday, there's a shootin' event I'd like to attend with some of the locals. I haven't clung bitterly to a firearm in a long time; my former editor at the gun journals tells me I just have to go to the SHOT Show one of these years, preferably when it's happening here. (The availability of ranges where full-auto weaponry is available is, of course, a draw.) I actually wonder whether that might be a justifiable expenditure, since they know I'm a decent gunwriter, and a damned good editor (if I do say so myself). It probably wouldn't hurt to re-introduce myself, although until I go on one hunt (even if it's a guided one) I'll always feel like a second-class citizen within the firearms community. (Though I do know a few prominent gunwriters who are not hunters; I choose not to "out" them.)

As Gary Sitton would say: "Be safe; and shoot straight."

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:39 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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The party breakdown, of course, tells us nothing. Except that California is, sadly, California.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:28 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I got a late start, which was made later by traffic, and later still when it took me an hour and a half to vote in Downey. The line was long, like the line to a Disneyland ride.

That would have been good in a lot of places, but in L.A. County it probably just meant that a lot of people were excited about the election for . . . well, the wrong reasons.

So in order not the keep the blogger who will be putting up with me this week waiting up all night (this is a person with a real job), I decided to stop here for the night in lovely Primm—sort of The Gateway to Nevadan Decadence. There are three hotels/casinos here, and all of 'em are apparently owned by the same company. I'm not sure I understand what the point of that is, but it seemed like a good place to stop because 1) I had to put gas in the car anyway, and 2) rooms here go for $29 (though internet access costs more).

I tried to get a room at Buffalo Bill's, but apparently that is the casino this town reserves for high rollers; they do not take "walk ins."

"Okay," I asked the guy. "Which of the other two is cheaper?—or should I go on down the road to Jean?"

He ignored the second question, which implies to me that Jean and it's one, count 'em, one casino is not owned by the Primm people.

If it were up to me, the town of Jean would change its name to Proper. But I'm rarely consulted about these things.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:13 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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You were, quite simply, the best. No one brought the West to life like you did, nor did anyone provide such illuminating glimpses into the the traditions of Native America.

You're who I want to be when I grow up (and I'm stealing that line, but I also mean it).

Goddammit, Tony. Goodbye.

Via Insty.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:41 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I'm headed out to run a couple of last-minute errands, do the vote-in-person thing in Norwalk, and drive to Las Vegas, where I will spend the week helping with Get Out the Vote stuff.

Content will be haphazard at best; probably just a wind-down post at the end of the day, along with those Special Insights you can only get from Little Miss Attila. ("Wow. The air here is even drier than it is at home.")

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:28 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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My mother remarks, on the eve of my trek out to Nevada to assist with the McCain-Palin campaign. "I'm afraid I can't quite wish you . . . success."

"Understood," I respond. "Let's just say I'll try to have a good time, and I'll stay safe."

"There was a time . . . I might have considered voting for McCain."

"Oh, really?" I remark, trying to control my shock. RINO or no (and some call me a RINO—it's all in how we order our priority lists), the man does have that evil letter after his name.

"But then he appointed that . . . that woman," she concludes.

"So you're one of those people, then? The ones I thought didn't really exist? You were open to McCain, but were turned off by the Palin pick?"

"Oh, yes," she tells me. "I can't see how anyone who supported Hillary can possibly want that woman in the White House."

"There are plenty of them, though," I point out. "There's even a name for them—women, and some men, who were so disgusted at what they perceived to be sexism in the Obama campaign [see how delicately I phrased it?--ed.] that they are actively campaigning for McCain. I'm really curious as to why you dislike her so; we'll have to talk once I get back into town."

"Sure, Honey," she tells me. "And you have a good time."

I always have a good time knocking on doors to try to get people to the polls . . . But I pulled it off four years ago (me, just me—it was my efforts that made the difference), and it'll happen again this year.

After we hang up it occurs to me that my mother and I are our opposite numbers: she considered McCain a possibility until he brought "that unqualified woman" on board. I was going to drag myself to the polls and pull the lever for the good Senator until he tapped Palin to be his Veep.

Granted, I already knew Palin, since I'm a minor-league energy blogger, but the main difference as I see it is . . . the good old mainstream media. I get absolutely no data from them (though I do try to keep tabs on what they are doing, of course).

My mother gets information from nowhere else. And she doesn't even have cable TV—it's all broadcast news, all the time.

She enjoys, furthermore, no internet access, because every time I show her how to web-surf and check her mail she nods brightly, and then renews her phobia once I leave the house. Then she assures me a few months later that she's forgotten how to do either of those two things, and it is my fault that this has occurred. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Because of my media skepticism, she seems to regard me as the informational equivalent of Randy Weaver: cut off from reality. Suspicious. Seeing black helicopters buzzing around this Presidential campaign.

And I apparently ruined the career of that nice Dan Rather man, for no reason other than vague suspicions and partisan malice.

Of course, someone raised me to be an iconoclast. Someone mentioned that one ought to question authority every now and then. And it wasn't the Great Pumpkin, either.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:15 PM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
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