went to the media party at the GOP convention last Saturday night. It was a warm but gorgeous night along the Mississippi. Corn on the cob in the shade of an old mill, a drink on the cantilevered terrace of the Guthrie Theater, with soaring views of the river.

On the way out, I spied this person and snapped a pix. I wanted to talk to her, but she was busy. I overheard some snippet about following the lead of a man. That was my first clue. I waited until she paused from talking to some man with whom it seemed she had friends in common. She asked me if I was with him…guess she was looking.

The second clue was when I asked her where she was from. She said San Francisco.

Then I asked her if she was a blogger–she said no, an activist. What self-respecting person describes themselves as an activist, anyway? So I asked what group? She said it’s called Code Pink, like I wouldn’t know. Of course she was deceptively dressed in black–maybe she was in mourning.

So I asked her–the RNC gave you credentials? And she said yes. So I told her I thought that was quite generous of them. Sorry the pix was out of focus, I had it set on landscape or something.

Then I saw this lady, very nice. I said I read the NY Times to bash it but liked the Arts Section. She offered me a bag, I said no thanks. She softly wondered if I would get fired if I took one. It was the media party after all. (I guess she thought I bashed the NY Times out of a competitive spirit.) I said no, I’m a blogger, I work for myself. But no thanks.