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"PA! PA! Where's Chelsea's Ma? Gone to the White House- Ha Ha Ha!" - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
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"PA! PA! Where's Chelsea's Ma? Gone to the White House- Ha Ha Ha!"
That's a variation on an old Republican-Democrat call-and-response chant arising out of a living sexual indiscretion of Buffalo's own Grover Cleveland, which came up against him right before his 1884 Presidential election. *.  This time, the "PA" refers to Pennsylvania, because after a two-day all-day stay in and around Rochester, I finally got the call late yesterday about training and assignment for the voter protection project down there next week.

I spent all but maybe an hour of yesterday, and much of the previous day, on one project for one client.  I had several other people working on it with me in various capacities, but the responsibility to get it signed and filed by day's end was all mine- and we pulled it off. When I returned a co-worker to the office and turned to drive home round 4:15, there was a call from an unknown number in Atlanta.  No voicemail.  I returned it anyway, gods know why, and it was dude confirming my stuff.  I explained why I'd fallen off the grid- that the campaign had basically annoyed the shit out of me with fundraising and scare emails- but he was cool with it.  I'm scheduled for a training webinar at 2 this afternoon, and then early Tuesday**, it's a quick 90-minute drive down the 90 to the largest city in that corner of a battleground state:





While the 7 a.m. time won't happen, I'm pretty sure the 8 p.m. time won't hold, either; part of the job almost certainly will be to encourage and protect anyone who's still in line when the official closing time comes.

So that's set. Besides the training, this weekend will be relatively quiet- Eleanor's on her fourth day on the new drugs which are helping but not completely yet. We will likely catch Doctor Strange tomorrow. I then have my first "normal" day in the office here on Monday, before the Three Days of PA begin- I'm down there and back Tuesday, then picking up Eleanor so we can see Rent in Erie on Wednesday night. We might even have a place to stay and an idea where it is by then.

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* I'd heard the story, and the catcall, about ol' Grover many times before, but this article revealed one unconfirmed yet hilarious fact about his illegitimate son: allegedly, the guy changed his name and became a gynecologist in Buffalo, living until the 1940s.

** Not as early as they'd like: apparently their polls open at 7 in the morning, but ours open at 6, and my plan all along was to vote here first before heading there.
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