When I finally found an operating taxi at 5:15 am (I really need to start calling ahead as from 2:30 to 5:30 am g-town seems deader than hell, transportation-wise) and gave the address of the Court, he said, "Are they open?" I said no but that people would certainly be there. When we arrived the general line was around the block and some folks had been camping out for two days. Strangely, the lawyers' line was only three people long at that hour (many more came later), so I had no trouble getting a seat.
The Westboro Baptist Phelps gang perturbed me more than I thought they would. After the argument I tried to get the bus right behind where they were waving their nasty signs and greeting admirers. I finally gave up waiting and decided to walk to Union Station despite not feeling too well (low hemo + little sleep) just to get away from the carnival of hate, only to have a bunch of the kiddies follow me singing "God Hates America" to the tune of "God Bless America" at the top of their lungs passing the Senate office buildings. Ugh, just ugh.
I am thinking of buying the Washington Post photo of Margie Phelps, the lawyer who argued, on a soapbox with 50 microphones stuck in her face. Not because I am a fan of hers, but because it's a good photo and will remind me of the difficulties inherent in free speech.
After all that I was exhausted and had crazy dreams last night about college students having indoor boat races using little pieces of cheese and sushi on strings for boats, and a record label giveaway of patches and rare records like a one-inch square microcassette recording of a lost classical concerto conducted by a member of The Fall.
GBV killed in Vegas at the big Matador show. Mitch crashed the stage during some boring Yo la Tengo jam and almost got beat up by their roadie who didn't know he was a headliner. I love Mitch. I think everyone does. ♥
Tonite I am meeting idioticpoet at Granville Moore's for beers. Thank God (Mine, not the Phelps') for good SANE friends.