A Post-Conference Debriefing by The Diva




June 26, 2001




Salutations, Resistance Fighters!


Are we having fun yet?


Okay, okay... I know what you are thinking... "I'm tired of fighting this frickin' coup! No one is listening! People don't care! It's summertime! I want to get a tan, and go watch 'Tomb Raider'! Leave me alone, Diva! Give it a rest, dang-blast-it-all!"


Alas, I cannot.


You see, for most of you, I know something you don't know.


I know we are not alone.


And I don't just mean that we are not alone amongst each other, I mean that we are not alone amongst the movers and shakers. Though they may not speak out as we do, they are WELL AWARE of us.


And in the spirit of that disclosure, I give you today's BBBR Resistance Report.




Where was I? Oh yes, movers and shakers...





JUNE 25-26, 2001



A Post-Conference Debriefing by The Diva



LONG BEACH (coup2k.com) June 25, 2001 - "Wake Up Democrats! Take Back the Country!" -- Well, the conference title seemed promising, so I did my Diva Duty, and ponied up the cash to take part in Southern California Americans

for Democratic Action's 2001 Conference in Los Angeles yesterday...




Preparations for the SCADA conference, much like preparations for VoterWest, were still in progress right up until it was time to hop into the love machine and hit the highway. I was up all night Saturday night, trying to think what "Americans for Democratic Action" would most like to see at our table, which I would be sharing with Rose of fringefolk.com, Kim of VoterMarch.org / VoterWest.org. and Jamie of CounterCoup.org/Trust the People (accompanied by Billie, President of Dogs for Democracy). As always, I was stumped, and ended up going with the obvious: buttons, KillCoup stickers, site brochures, all of the Bush v. Gore SCOTUS decisions (which no one even looked at), the UN Petition (which hardly anyone bothered to sign), iron-on transfers of some of the more popular Coup Couture designs, orange voter rights ribbons (which I pinned on any person who would stand still long enough, and who didn't mind me putting my hand inside their shirt), BUSHWACKED! videos, booklets of the "Best of the BBBR" slide show, etc., etc.




The breakfast speaker was Dick Gephardt, and I found myself sitting at a table with Rose, listening to the House Minority Leader talk about Democratic priorities -- the environment, education, progressive taxation -- and about the Jeffords defection (which Gephardt believes signals a seismic shift in the political terrain in America), all matters which I hold close to my Diva heart. He had me. We were singing the same song... But...


When he began to talk about the evils of hate, Dick Gephardt LOST ME.




(Because most people would never get past the first sentence of any such column, I have never written my "In Defense of Hate" treatise. Maybe now would be a good time.)


Gephardt began to tell stories about his travels in South Africa -- stories about wrongfully condemned and imprisoned dissidents like Mandela, who now live their lives in love and forgiveness... stories about the parents of a slain youth activist, who now live their lives in love and forgiveness -- stories clearly intended to advocate for the necessity of political love and forgiveness, and to advocate for beating our rhetorical swords into plowshares.


This made me intensely angry. I felt the blood rising to my face, the denunciations rising in my throat... To draw such a parallel felt like the worst kind of "apples and oranges" talk to me.


You see, I think Dick Gephardt knows that we are out here -- we who were victimized by this conservative coup -- and that we are nursing our wounds and our anger, and are not willing to move on. I think it was us that Dick was speaking to, though he was never specific about that.


I don't know if anyone else who was listening to his speech (other than Rose) had the same reaction I did. I was dying to shout out, across the crowded ballroom "TRUTH BEFORE RECONCILIATION! TRUTH BEFORE RECONCILIATION!"


But I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. Now, I wish I had, with all my heart.


I, too, applaud the forgoing of revenge on the part of the oppressed peoples of South Africa, who now find themselves with the power to exact retribution. I am impressed by their willingness to give up "an eye for an eye," and to be better than those who did their worst.


But I KNOW that they did not make it to that point of reconciliation without first demanding that the truth be spoken -- that there be a record of the crimes committed by those who held power, and held it so ruthlessly. Black South Africans demanded and got THE TRUTH, first.




Here is my defense of hate: Hate is the only honest reaction to injustice when unacknowledged, unrepented, and uncorrected. I hate the person who blew up a federal building in Oklahoma City. I hate the people who dragged James Byrd to his death. I hate the people who crucified Mathew Shepherd. I hate the Nazis who snuffed out entire families, and tried to snuff out an entire race of humanity.


I do. I hate them all.


There are some acts that do such violence to the concept of human decency, that hate is the only proper reaction for me. This, I believe, with all my heart.


If the monsters who committed these acts were ever to confess the dark impulses that drove them to act, if they were ever to take responsibility for their crimes and make an effort to atone, I could move past hate. I would move past hate. My heart is big enough... but...




I can no more reconcile without truth, than I can live without air. That is the way I am made. I cannot change. I love justice too much to stand silently by while she is raped, and her rapists are rewarded for their violence on her.


I hate every person who stole the 2000 election from The American People.


Must it always be this way? Could I ever STOP hating Scalia, Rehnquist, Thomas, O'Connor, Kennedy, Bush, Harris...? Yes, I certainly could, if...


If the monsters who committed these acts were ever to confess the dark impulses that drove them to act, if they were ever to take responsibility for their crimes and make an effort to atone, I could move past hate...


But unless and until that happens? No. Not a chance. My hate IS my love of justice, and that is not something I am willing to "let go" of, or "move on" from, or "get over."


Deal with it.




One big surprise about working the Conference was finding out that the internet resistance is largely unknown among the Democratic activists who attended the SCADA Conference. Most had never heard of fringefolk or VoterMarch, let alone the BBBR.


I was also surprised to hear many activists parroting the oft-debunked myths of election 2000:


Gore should have asked for statewide recounts. (HINT: He did.)


Gore's poor campaign was the reason for his loss. (HINT: He didn't lose.)


And on and on. I explained the truth to everyone who hadn't yet heard it, but I don't know whether or not they believed me...




PART II (Web posted June 26, 2001)


LONG BEACH (coup2k.com) June 26, 2001 - "Wake Up Democrats! Take Back the Country!" -- Well, the conference title seemed promising, so I did my Diva Duty, and ponied up the cash to take part in Southern California Americans for Democratic Action's 2001 Conference in Los Angeles on Sunday...




While Dick Gephardt was speaking about the evils of hate, my eyes were wandering about the room, looking at the faces of other attendees, to see if anyone else was having a reaction similar to mine.


As I glanced around, I saw Jesse Jackson, Jr. enter the ballroom. I leaned over and urgently tapped Rose on the shoulder to get her attention. I gestured to where he was standing, and began to bounce up and down in my seat, and clap without letting my hands touch. Rose and I had smiles on our faces a mile wide.


Jesse looked over at us, and gave us a three-mile-smile right back.


Later in the conference, when we were listening to one of the many speakers, I noticed that Jesse was quietly handing out literature to people as they entered the auditorium. I sidled up next to him to get copies for myself.


Jesse gave me another winning smile, and handed me a brochure for The Progressive Majority (a group which advocates for the progressive values favored by a clear majority of Americans) which said, in part, "What future are you willing to fight for? We are at a rare point in our nation's history. A president who lost the popular vote is headed in a direction opposed by -- and against the best interests of -- the majority of Americans."


Jesse then handed me a postcard advertising his book, "A More Perfect Union: Advancing New American Rights," saying "And here is a little shameless self-promotion..." to which I replied while flashing my BBBR Button at him, "Don't worry about it. I'm guilty, too." (He laughed!)


The postcard included this line describing the book: "The way you feel about elections will never be the same."


I am pre-ordering "A More Perfect Union," which should be available any day now.




Vincent Bugliosi... What can I say about the man that would begin to do him justice? I don't have the words (a rare circumstance to find myself in, to be sure), but I will press on.


Vincent Bugliosi is an American hero. While most of those in either of his chosen professions (the law and writing) dissent from the judicial coup in moderate, conciliatory and subservient tones, bowing and scraping at the feet of the Filthy Five like whipped dogs afraid of the swift and brutal hands of their masters, Vincent Bugliosi refuses to be intimidated by their absolute power. He stands eye to eye with the thieves, unflinchingly calling them by their right names -- "The Felonious Five." He doesn't just call them political whores, he calls them CRIMINALS.


Amen, Vincent.


From my first reading of "None Dare Call It Treason" in The Nation, to my subsequent reading of Bugliosi's book based on that scathing indictment of the Extreme Court ("The Betrayal of America: How The Supreme Court Undermined Our Constitution and Chose Our President"), Vincent Bugliosi has been my hero, and the champion of my cause -- The American Dream.


If Vincent Bugliosi needed a kidney, I'd give him one. If he needed someone to, as they say, "drive the white Bronco," I'd be there in a heartbeat. His courage and his voice mean that much to me -- everything to me. It is my firm belief that, when historians write about this dark time in our national journey, Vincent Bugliosi will be lauded as the guide who held high the lamp of truth, and helped us find our way out of the murky black void of our wounded self-governance. He was the first. I believe he will be remembered as the best.


When I found out that Vincent was going to be speaking at the SCADA Conference, I called to register immediately. I could not miss an opportunity to hear him speak -- that would be unthinkable -- or a chance to gauge the reaction of rank-and-file liberals to his message.


When he arrived at The Wilshire Grand Hotel for the Conference, my first reaction was, "He looks like a human!" (I don't know what I was expecting, but his approachability floored me. I had just been rebuffed by Rob Reiner -- after giving him an orange voter rights ribbon -- and I was not expecting Vincent to move among the crowd like one of us, but he did just that.)


My impressions of the man, before hearing him speak, or meeting him personally: Vincent Bugliosi bursts with the barely-leashed energy and passion of a man on a mission. Everything about his body language veritably screams, "There is work to be done!" There he was -- no entourage, no coterie of sycophantic hangers-on -- just one lone man, doing his part to save the world.


Next came the mad scramble to find out where and when Vincent would be addressing the Conference. Our first information was that he was NOT going to address the Conference as a group, but would lead just one of many lunchtime "break-out" sessions attendees could choose among.


I was FURIOUS. How could they relegate Our Hero to the B-List?! Were they insane?! What the hell was going on around here?!


We four Resistance Chicks began to express our dissatisfaction with such an arrangement, and I sent a lawyer in an expensive suit to tell the Conference organizers that they were making a HUGE mistake. He returned to tell me that Vincent had (through no lobbying by us) been moved to the regular session, and would be speaking soon.


Rose came up with the brilliant idea of the four of us holding signs in support of Vincent and his work. We lettered four 9 1/2" x 12" manila envelopes to read "WE" "LOVE" "YOU" "VINCENT."


Our signs facing in (so as not to tip our hands), we filed into the back of the auditorium, and stood awaiting the remarks of the man we have all come to idolize. Elvis was about to perform, and we were prepared to give him the full rock-star treatment -- the recognition he so richly deserved.


We clapped like maniacs during his introduction. We hollered and cheered as he stepped up to the podium. When he began to speak, we proudly held our signs HIGH. During his speech, we made a literal spectacle of ourselves. We whistled, we stomped, we hissed every time he mentioned the filthy five, we screamed every time he denounced them... It goes without saying that people turned around in their seats to see what the heck was going on in the back of the room. A few minutes into Vincent's speech, Warren Beatty (whom I hadn't noticed up until that moment, was sitting right in front us, a few rows away) turned around in his chair, and grinned at us like a Cheshire Cat. I suppose, of all those in attendance, Warren may have been the only person in the group to be regularly afforded such mega-star treatment.


Vincent's speech brought down the house. For those of you who have heard him interviewed, you know what he said. But seeing him say it, in the flesh, and watching the audience roar their approval at him, was something altogether different than watching him sit across a desk from a media pundit and make his case.


At one point, Vincent stopped speaking, because SOMEONE was telling him to wrap-it-up. He looked out at the audience, and asked to be given a few more minutes to complete his remarks. We gave him all the encouragement he needed.


He continued, until he was stopped again for the same reason. I found myself ready to do battle, if that was what was required to let Vincent say his peace.


Again, the audience came to Vincent's aid. (I hate to think what might have happened if the Conference organizers had given him the hook. I hate to think how I might have reacted.)


Vincent, as I said, brought down the house.


As he ended his remarks, the audience flew to their feet to give him a thundering standing ovation. We Resistance Chicks were the loudest, I like to think, and even today, I am still hoarse...




As the roar of the crowd slowly died down, I looked over to see Rose with tears in her eyes. I knew exactly what she was feeling. After all this time -- after being marginalized, ignored, mocked, and condescended to for our opposition to the coup -- we had heard a powerful voice speaking to our values, and we had heard that voice praised and its message embraced. Vincent did that for us. For all of us.


We got what we came for, and began to file out of the auditorium, but were stopped by a mass of people clustered around the exit.


We paused, and Warren Beatty stepped up to the podium.




Among his first remarks was this good-natured early warning, aimed directly at us: "I was sitting a couple of rows in front of The Vincent Bugliosi Gallery, and I just want to say, I hope you don't plan on leaving until I'm finished giving my speech." [DIVA NOTE: or something like that.]


How charming!


Alright, then. We'll stay.


Warren spoke primarily about the need for campaign finance reform -- a noble cause to be sure, and one with strong support on these pages -- and read a speech about the future of the Democratic Party written by his 9-year old daughter (the best bit being, "Democrats are the oldest party in America. Unless I am wrong...).


Warren made the point in his speech that campaign finance reform, and getting money out of politics, is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING we need to do.


Well, now... Any of you who have spent anytime reading my writings from the BBBR Bunker know that I disagree, but I will quickly sketch for you the reason for my dissent:


Campaign finance reform = people voting for the best, rather than the best-financed, candidate

Bush v. Gore decision = people's votes do not have to be counted


Instituting campaign finance reform means NOTHING in the absence of voters having the right to cast a ballot, and to have that ballot counted in determining the election's outcome.




Coco went in for her one-month post-radiation therapy follow-up yesterday, and I asked Dr. Ridgeway, D.V.M., the following question: "If a person brought an animal to you that was bleeding to death from a laceration, AND dying of lung cancer... Which condition would you treat first?"


Without missing a beat, Dr. Ridgeway said he would treat the laceration first -- he would treat the acute condition before the chronic condition.


(Of course he said that! You don't think I'd let an idiot treat CoupCat Coco, do you?)


My point is this: Our democratic processes are wounded, and it defies reason to let the patient bleed out, while treating the chronic condition of whoristocratic abuses.]




I'm black, as most of you already know. Granted, I didn't always know this, but it's never to late to learn the truth. On January 7, 2001, I formally switched my personal racial identification, due in no small part to Maxine Waters.


To further document her sudden change in racial identification, The Diva discussed her response to yesterday's certification of the presidential election. "I was watching it, and it just became so clear to me. One by one, members of the Congressional Black Caucus stood to challenge the electors," she explained, "and I felt a kinship with them that I can only describe as absolute." Continuing, she asked, "Why didn't I feel that same sense of community and affection when I looked out over the sea of white faces looking on? The fighting spirit that lives in me more clearly mirrors that of an Alcee Hastings or a Maxine Waters, than almost any of those people."

-- From "The Diva Formally Switches Race," January 7, 2001


So, when we got word that my sister was not only in the building, but was mingling with attendees, Rose and I made a beeline in her direction.


Though gracious, I could tell Maxine was a little overwhelmed by all the people bending her ear, and I could also tell that her assistant was trying in vain to help her move along. Having said this, I still could not let her leave without speaking to her. Selfish, I know, but I HAD to.


When my chance came, I handed Maxine a "No Vote, No Justice, No President" button, and began to tell her how much it meant to me, to all of us, that the Congressional Black Caucus stood in challenge to the certification of the Florida electors.


I was babbling, but I finally got my verbal legs under me, and said to her, "I watched as you were walking out of the chamber, and I looked into the faces of progressives that I knew wanted to be with you... They were looking away. They couldn't look into your eyes, because you were Justice that day, and they were cowards."


I can't really describe her physical reaction to what I said. She sort of jerked, like someone had given her a shock, and then looked into my eyes, and said, "That's a powerful statement!"


I felt, at that moment, like the gods had smiled down on me.


Rose began to speak passionately to Maxine, and gave her a fringefolk button. I was so emotional about Maxine's reaction, that I don't really remember what Rose said. But as we walked away, Rose was again in tears, and again, I knew exactly how she felt.




Alrightee, then. NOW you can go warm your belly beneath glorious Helios,

and watch Angelina Jolie give the action-adventure performance of her

life, with my Diva blessings.


Keep writing me, and KEEP FIGHTING THIS COUP!





"The Diva"

WebMistress of BBBR





June 27, 2001




Dear Resistance Fighters:


Another day, another SCADA Debriefing Column, but this one is the last, I promise. (I think.)




So, read on, intrepid Champions of Democracy, for the thrilling conclusion...







S.C.A.D.A. CONFERENCE 2001 Part III (Final)

A Post-Conference Debriefing by The Diva


LONG BEACH (coup2k.com) June 27, 2001 - "Wake Up Democrats! Take Back the Country!" -- The final installment of my report from Southern California Americans for Democratic Action's 2001 Conference in Los Angeles on Sunday...




One of the things I have tried to do on my site, is take back the language from regressives, reactionaries, propagandists, and media you-know-whats who have bastardized it beyond all logic or recognition, and who have pulled many progressives (and most of American society) along in their wake. In this quest, I have often turned to dictionaries for support:



hate [hayt ] noun (plural hates)

1. feeling of intense dislike or anger: a feeling of intense dislike, anger, hostility, or animosity; "You could see the hate in his eyes."

2. something hated: something that is hated


[Old English hete (noun) and hatian (verb). Ultimately from an Indo-European word perhaps meaning "strong feeling," which is also the ancestor of English heinous.]



Now, I know it is considered poor form in America right now to admit to hating ANYONE or ANYTHING. That is because the denotative (fixed, objective) meaning of "hate" has been replaced by the connotative (changing, subjective) meaning, which can be bigotry or prejudice.


When I speak in defense of hate, I am speaking in defense of hate, as defined.


I intensely dislike the Filthy Five, Bush, and the other coup-conspirators. I feel anger, hostility and animosity towards them all. Not only that, I consider their actions HEINOUS ("shockingly evil or wicked").


If that makes me a bad person in the eyes of some (or all), I accept that. I plead guilty to the charge of hate. If that means I am doing more harm to myself than to 'them', so be it. This is the way I honestly feel, and I will not lie about this to gain the respect or approval of anyone... Not only CAN'T I change the way that I honestly feel, but I WOULDN'T if I could. I am proud of my hate. I think it demonstrates my values, my morality, and my high personal standards.




When I write, I often forget that not everyone is a regular or longtime visitor to the BBBR (coup2k.com), and that not everyone may understand what I am saying, what I mean, or where I am coming from. Mea culpa. My bad. Please allow me to clear a few things up.


First, I am black by choice, not by birth, and Maxine Waters is not my biological sister. What she is, is my hero, and an inspiration for changing my personal racial identification -- proudly, and once and for all. What do I mean by this? Well, I'll paraphrase for you what I told Maxine:


When the Congressional Black Caucus stood to challenge the Florida electors, and stood alone, and when the media insisted on asserting that the only Americans who cared about the stolen election were black, and since America's past racial purity laws defined any person with any black blood as black, and since we all share a common ancestry (a principle present in both the Theory of Evolution and the Judeo-Christian creation tale -- take your pick), I put two and two together -- being the on-the-ball Diva that I am -- and formally announced my change of race.



Since I wrote that story on January 7th, many people have written in to make similar switches, and I have recently even had the opportunity to act on my change, vis--vis the mainstream media. I was called as part of CNN's Telephone Survey regarding the Resident and his appointistration's policies (you can, I am certain, guess the nature of my answers to the substantive questions asked of me), and part of the information being gathered was demographic information. That portion of the interview went something like this:


CNN: Are you Hispanic or Latin American?




CNN: Are you white, black, or Asian?


DIVA: Yes.


[Long Pause]


DIVA: [Feigning surprise] Oh! Did you want me to choose one?


CNN: Yes, please.


DIVA: I'm black.


[Long Pause]


DIVA: Hello...?


Yes, I did tell Maxine about all of this (remember my remark in Part II about "babbling?"). I told her about my race change, about others following suit, and about having the chance to flummox the CNN pollsters. She seemed to get a kick out of it.


A sense of humor must run in the family... [DISCLAIMER: And I don't mean nuclear family...]




At the conference, I had one of "those" moments... You know, one of those moments where serendipity puts two people in the same room -- people that have a strong connection for you personally, but who have no idea you feel that way -- and that reality tickles your funny bone?


Well for me, at SCADA, those two people were Rob Reiner and Robert Reich. You see, on March 11th of this year, Robert Reich wrote a column pronouncing the Democratic Party dead, using the "Dead Parrot" shtick from "Monty Python" to make his point. I disagreed with his assertion (I am, after all, a Democrat, and very much alive, as far as I know), so on March 13th, I re-wrote a scene from "The Princess Bride" (Directed by Rob Reiner) to make my point.


It's probably a good thing that Rob Reiner blew me off, or I might have ended up babbling this story to him...




While at the conference I met many Resistance Fighters who don't hold the high profile of a Maxine, or Warren, or Dick, or Jesse Jr., or Vincent. One such Fighter that I spent a considerable amount of time speaking with was Eric Jacobson of censurethefive.org.


This is a group committed to lobbying for a censure resolution in the United States Congress, as a first step towards restoring the balance of power shattered by the Bush v. Gore decision. I want to encourage every one of you to visit their site, and support their effort by writing your Congressional Representatives (remember, snail mail is better than e-mail). Censurethefive.org argues that now is the time to begin laying the foundation for ultimately holding the Filthy Five accountable for their actions. I wholeheartedly concur...




And now comes the hardest part of the story to tell, the part where I meet Vincent Bulgiosi.


I considered omitting this story from my report altogether, or omitting significant portions of it, because relaying some of Vincent's remarks might seem self-serving (to me).


After kicking it around for another day, I've decided to tell the story as I remember it, and let the chips (and Resistance Fighters' opinions of me) fall where they may...


Here goes...


While tabling with Rose, Kim, and Jamie (accompanied by Billie), I saw Vincent Bugliosi across the room from us, signing an autograph. I had brought his book to the Conference with me, along with Dershowitz' new book, to encourage others to buy and read them.


I also brought it because I wanted Vincent's autograph. I can't tell you how much...


I grabbed one of my many clipboards and a pen, and prepared to make my way to him. Before I could, he began to make his way toward our table. (In the interest of clarity, our table was by the stairs leading down to one of the building's exits.) I don't remember if he came to the table of his own accord, or if my holding his book and a pen in my hands was the same thing as my pulling him to our table, or if I said something to get him over there...


Once there (and I am not exactly certain of the sequence of events, or of exactly what was said, so I am paraphrasing), I asked for his autograph, trying not to gush unduly. He graciously took my book and pen, and asked me my name. I said, "Tammy" (it didn't even occur to me to say "The Diva!"), and he asked, "Is that T-A-M-I?" To which I replied, "No, T-A-M-M-Y... My parents were not very creative..." (See? Again with the babbling! You put me within arm's reach of a personal hero, and I get the reverse of tongue-tied! I swear, when I am nervous, I chatter like novelty store dentures!)


"Not at all," he said, "It's a pretty name for a pretty girl."


[DIVA NOTE: Vincent Bugliosi: Heroic AND charming! {{{SIGH}}}]


I said to him, "You know, you are Elvis to us -- to the movement. You don't know how much you mean to us. You are our hero."


"Don't say that," he admonished me. "I did what I did out of rage."


[DIVA NOTE: See? That is the passion I spoke of earlier... Such a down-to-earth, approachable man, but such FIRE!]


Speaking to us Resistance Chicks, he said, "You are the ones doing the heavy lifting, and I appreciate it. Really I do."


Jamie agreed with him, but I did not...


"I am no one, and nothing, so I have nothing to lose," I said. "But you... You've risked everything. You have a career, a lifetime of work, a reputation -- so much to lose..."


At this point, I believe, the other ladies joined our conversation. There was talk of the media blackout and the need for continuing action, of his online radio interview, of many things...


At some point (I don't remember exactly when), I gave him a SCOTUS Devil Button. He glanced at it quickly, then did a double-take to look at it more closely, and let out a surprised laugh with a big smile.


I felt like the sun was shining on my face! Vincent found my button amusing!


Could this day get any better?




The conversation ended, and I suddenly realized that we would be the last people Vincent spoke to at the Conference, because he was headed for the stairs and the exit... Did everyone know our hero was leaving? Were they paying attention?


I wanted to send him off in style, and with no doubts as to how we felt about him and what he was doing, so I started clapping as though he had just finished speaking. Immediately, the other Resistance Chicks joined in. (I got the impression that we all had the same idea spontaneously, and mere nanoseconds apart -- if that.)


The applause that we had begun spread through the floor of the hotel like a wave, growing in volume and intensity. Soon, we were shouting, "Run for President, Vincent!" and "We love you Vincent!"


He turned back and waved to our table, and then he was off, to his next stop on the Vincent Bugliosi Save the World Tour, 2001... The hottest ticket in town, if you ask me.



When Maxine Waters made her exit, we didn't have nearly the warning that we had with Vincent, but at least we had practice.


Suddenly, and out of the blue, Maxine was passing by our table, smiling as she went...


We burst into applause again, and the floor of the hotel followed our example again... We sent Maxine off, to do her good and urgently needed work for The People, with shouts of "When you decide to run for President, send a shout-out, and we'll all come work for you!"


She and her assistant seemed tickled pink at our outpouring of affection, and our offer...




As I mentioned in Part I of this report, I had stayed up the night before to prepare for the Conference. This, coupled with the emotional roller-coaster of the day's events, and the thrill of meeting such wonderful American heroes, really took it out of this Diva.


I was fading fast, let me tell you, and I had a 40-minute drive between me and my bed in the BBBR Bunker. The Conference, too, was winding down. The atmosphere was a lot more laid back than it had been, so... I laid back. Flat on my back. On the floor next to our table. I was exhausted, sleepy, and... dare I say it? PUNCHY. I called out, "Help! Our democracy's fallen and it can't get up!" (A situation that I don't find funny in the least... though I was giggling groggily.) In an e-mail to me yesterday, Kim of Votermarch mentioned that, while sprawled out in this undignified fashion, I still reached my hand out toward people pausing at the table, and said, "Hi! I'm Tammy, The Diva of coup2k.com, The Bush Brothers Banana Republic..."


[DIVA NOTE: ...And you can dress me up, but you can't take me anywhere!]




So, unless I think of some witty anecdote or wonderful vignette I've neglected to share thus far, you have now read my complete report on the SCADA Conference, and my adventures there

And to answer my own question of yesterday...

"Yes, though it is beyond my meager understanding, I am having fun fighting this coup!"

Just call me "Diva Croft, CoupRaider!"

"The Diva"

WebMistress of BBBR