Let’s get this straight: I don’t care what Sen. John Kerry did during the Vietnam War. As much as I might joke about child- and early adulthood indiscretions, I really don’t care what President George W. Bush did 35 years ago either.

My guess is most voters agree.

What are the candidates doing and saying now? Is Bush’s plan for the economy working? If not, does Kerry’s plan, whatever that is, put the country on better financial footing?

Iraq seems like a mess from this side of the world. Does Kerry have ideas for minimizing U.S. casualties, while at the same time stabilizing that country? Do those ideas make more sense than Bush’s?

What about health care, education, our massive trade deficit with China?

What about Darfur, the Israel-Palestine conflict, Iran?

Honestly, give the voters something more than sound bites to take to the ballot booth.

Kerry may have put more varnish on his military record while carving it up for a campaign plank. That hardly means he shot himself to get a medal, as I’ve heard conservative talking heads selectively imply.

Bush may have gone missing in his Guard service, save for that faithful dentist appointment. That hardly means that, after religious and alcohol interventions, he’s unfit for the presidency.

Great. Let’s move on, and talk about issues - not herrings.

It’s 1998, and time idles while I slog a public relations job.

The boss would spend more time away from than in the office and I, a recent journalism graduate, slummed alone through writing press releases.

The office remained silent, save for my pecks on the keyboard and the occasional drama of the fax machine. Fax lists for each of our clients included that number. On Sept. 24, the machine lit up, and it spit out a memo from Manpower, the quasi-employer.

It read, in part:

We wanted everybody to be aware of an incident that occurred today in the downtown Los Angeles office. A group came into the office when only the Service reps were present and indicated that they had permission from Home Office to film our operation. The group indicated they were from a television station and filming for a program hosted by Michael Moore.

The memo, dated Sept. 9 and just working its way to Michigan, went on to advise “Service reps” on how to handle such situations. “Keep in mind that we only look bad if we allow ourselves to be provoked,” it read. “Staff should not allow themselves to be bullied or intimidated into cooperating with such a group.”

The fax included tacked-on and related memos with a few different dates, representing comments added as the document worked its way around the company.

Moore’s avant populism appealed to me much more at the time, and I snatched the thin paper off the machine and stuffed it in my book bag.

Two days later, I emailed Moore through his Web site. Tia Lessen, as assistant at the time, emailed me back immediately to express interest. Moore himself emailed me before long, apparently quite eager.

Thank you so much for your e-mail. I was wondering how long it would take Manpower to catch onto what I was doing!

Would you please fax those three pages to me at my personal fax? No one will know about this correspondence between us. My fax number is [omitted].

I’ll stay in touch with you and let you know how we fare!

Thanks SO much for helping out.

BTW, we pay $700 for story ideas we use so that means I want to send you $700. How should I do this, keeping in mind the confidentiality concerns?

Take care,
Mike

I wrestled with it for a few days before making a decision I don’t think I’d make now, six years later. As I said, I was a recent graduate; that kind of money buys a lot of Ramen.

On Oct. 1, I walked into a Kinkos, document in hand, to fax Michael Moore. I waited nervously at the counter while the man waited for his machine to print a confirmation slip. I had included a brief note reminding Moore of our email exchange, and giving him my address so he could send a check.

That was the last I heard of Michael Moore - no check, no thanks, no nothing.

Not that I’m angry about it, or hold him in vile esteem. Moore has his place; I appreciate him in the same way I do the populist lean of Mother Jones or the stodgy English conservatism of The Economist. I know the information sources, and their strengths and weaknesses. I know what I’m getting from each source.

And I know, after six years, I’m probably not getting my $700 from Michael Moore.

Charley, as anyone watching the Weather Channel knows, wiggled across the middle of the Florida penninsula. It hit just south of Tampa, and wandered into the Atlantic from the Daytona Beach area.

Ocala missed the storm’s fury, but I think that was a 50/50 proposition even late this afternoon. This area got light winds and a few bouts of moderately heavy rains.

I didn’t see anywhere near the intensity I’d hoped. Part of me sighs relief, but another part looks forward to next time.

It’s proved a long wait.

I woke from a nap earlier to my landlord knocking on the door. Charley turned into a Level 4, she told me, and it turned slightly left after hitting the coast. That course would have it hitting Ocala.

Carmen, my cat, fell for the lure of an opened tuna can, and I squeezed her into a carrier. I live on the second floor, and my downstairs neighbor happened to move out today, so I talked to the landlord about boarding the cat downstairs. At least she won’t be on a second floor, and has a room without windows in which to hide in.

Rains and high winds have hit here, but Charley’s course had changed again by the time I got to work. It had veered right, and in the interrim has kept a trajectory toward the Orlando/Kissimmee area.

That, and when I finally got to work, our trajectory had changed. Managers decided not to do a second edition. The crew won’t be here until 4 a.m. afterall. We do, however, have a 1:30 a.m. press start for our only edition, so it’ll still turn into a later-than-usual night.

I’m settled in for the slog, flanked by boarded up windows and journalists fed off emergency sandwich platters.

At 2 p.m., NOAA issued notice that Charley jumped up to a Level 4, with 145 mph sustained winds.

At the time, it was 60 miles off Ft. Myers, moving at 20 mph. It also dipped south a bit, and is now expected to hit around Port Charlotte. That means it should hit land in about 90 minutes.

Here in Ocala, it’s still and overcast.

I’m getting ready for work.

But not close enough for us to be news. That’s the hopeful axiom that I gathered from the office last night.

People offer a mixed message: either Charley won’t be a big deal, or we’ll get 90-plus mph winds and four inches of rain.

I walked downtown to see if people were boarding up, and to snap a few shots. No one was nailing plywood to windows, but several businesses had criss-crosses of tape. I went to Target earlier, and red-shirted employees were fixing boards to the doors.

Mobs clogged Publix, the local supermarket chain, earlier, with carts full of water and batteries. The parking lot was mad with anxious drivers.

The office called to postpone my shift, from a 2 p.m. start to a 6 p.m. start. The Star-Banner plans two editions: an early one, and a late one with a 4 a.m. press start. I work the latter, which will wrap another eight pages of aftermath around the former.

I’ll be at work through the entire storm. I have my worst-case-scenario bag, packed with water, food, a flashlight and other essentials, ready to go.

And now, a nap.

I joked when I moved to Florida that I wanted to see alligators in the wild, and I wanted to experience a hurricane evacuation. I’ve seen gators; it didn’t take long. Ma Nature, though, made me wait until my second hurricane season.

Forecasters predict Charley will first pummel the west coast of the state not too far north of Tampa Bay - dashing itself across the area from Clearwater to Spring Hill. The storm is expected to strengthen as it arcs between Cuba and the U.S., and likely attain Level 3 on the Saffir-Simspon Scale as it hits land.

That’s a “major” hurricane. For the folks counting at home, those are 120 mph sustained winds.

I’m piqued.

I’m getting up early to batten hatches: unplug appliances, dismantle computer, wrangle cat, etc. I have a flashlight, a Leatherman, three bottles of water and a rain suit.

But wait, you say, Ocala sits more than an hour from the coast. Well, tonight forecasters said they expect Charley to maintain hurricane status as he pulls himself across the peninsula. Even if he drops to Level 2 as he passes Ocala, trees will whip in 100 mph winds.

This county isn’t getting evacuated (maybe next time…), but you can bet our hotels are full of people from the coast.

Um, did I mention I’ll be at work, trying to put a newspaper out? Oh, and windows bank the copy desk on the second floor.

Stay tuned for updates. Gently now, Charley.

Yes, I missed President George W. Bush speak Friday at Unity. Opportunities like seeing a sitting president speak don’t present themselves often. I saw Sen. John F. Kerry’s Unity address, and should have given Bush the same courtesy.

What can I say? Copy editors sometimes have difficulty waking up at 7 a.m., like mere mortals.

CNN’s broadcast didn’t cover the whole speech, only the questions afterward.

In comparing the two, my impression is that Kerry thinks better on his feet. Sadly, Kerry’s site has a transcript, but it omits the question period. Kerry, like Bush, gave circular answers in some instances. Bush, unlike Kerry, gave what I view as dodgy answers to some questions. For example, he never answered the question, “Are you going to order Attorney General John Ashcroft to send federal election monitors to Florida and other southern states?”

I think this is important. The President did, as he said in his answer, sign the Help America Vote Act. Throwing money at this problem is important. But, my assessment of Florida (and maybe a valid assumption elsewhere) is that changes knee-jerked into place after the 2000 election are not yet fully implemented. A recent Associated Press article, published on MSNBC.com, comes to the same conclusion:

Many of the reforms in the Help America Vote Act passed by Congress remain years from reality. Forty-one states have received two-year waivers of the 2004 deadline to create voter registration databases, and three-quarters of Americans will vote on the same machines in 2004 as they did in 2000. Punch card and lever systems vilified then are in wide use today.

The administration needs a fairness plan for this election. The President, speaking at Unity, joked “… Just don’t focus on Florida. Now, I’ll talk to the governor down there to make sure it works.”

The crowd laughed, but I don’t think it’s funny. Even the slightest whiff of impropriety of disenfranchisement will be challenged in November. And the American presidency is too important to be decided by lawyers or courts.

My criticism of Kerry is harder to support. He’s wooden. Where the President has a mischievous spark in his eyes that makes him an engaging speaker, Kerry has a slight wisp of faded passion. It seems obvious that he has ideas, and he can get them across more eloquently than Bush; that plays into a bias I have toward the intelligencia. But those ideas don’t translate into a fire that enlivens Joe Independent or Sally Swing Voter - the nebulous ballot-casters who will decide this election.

Again, I’m comparing apples and oranges, since I didn’t witness the President’s address. Still, Kerry could have all the greatest ideas for running this country, but he’ll lose in November if he can’t engage voters.

Giving back completes a circuit.

That’s why I agreed when Diane Hawkins of the Louisville Courier-Journal asked two months ago if I’d speak on a panel at Unity.

The panel, with the obtuse name “Copy editing eye for the reporting guy,” was held the Friday of the convention. It gave me a great chance to share the knowledge so readily given me.

I’m blessed, whether I acknowledge it as often as I should or not.

Through chance, I found the Freedom Forum’s Chips Quinn internship program in November 2002. I was at a loss for opportunity at the time, and Chips Quinn helped redefined my purpose.

The Freedom Forum invited me to Arlington, Va., and put me through a rigorous boot camp in preparation for a new-to-me role - copy editing. Following my orientation, the group placed me at my current paper, the Star-Banner in Ocala, Fla.

Eight weeks into that twelve-week program, the Freedom Forum named me an ASNE/APME fellow, which turned the Star-Banner internship into a permanent job.

To say the fellowship has proved generous, and the Star-Banner supportive, understates the point. I’ve enjoyed numerous opportunities to cultivate my skills, in addition to on-the-job experience. In November 2003, the Freedom Forum invited me (and the other 40-plus fellows at the time), back to Arlington for exposure to some of the best talent journalism has to offer. In spring of this year, I attended the American Copy Editor’s Society convention in Houston, Texas, for more focused training.

At each stop, I’ve added richness to my skills as a journalist. At each step, I’ve grown into a better copy editor.

Now, more than ever, I cringe when I see “pacted” used as a verb, to mean “struck a deal,” on CNN’s crawlers. Now, more than ever, I worry over the finicky placement of commas and modifiers.

Now, more than ever, I have knowledge to give back.

The panel was designed to help bridge the span between reporter’s row and the night copy desk. I tried to pass on a robust passion for grammar. I worked to impart a strong sense of communication between reporters and the editors who work their copy.

The session’s attendance impressed me. Journalists - perhaps 40 or 50 of them - filled the chairs and lined up against the walls of the small corner convention room. I hope at least one of the reporters who attended walked away with a better understanding of the last newsroom step in the process that gets his or her copy into print. With luck, all of them took home at least a little more empathy for their copy editors.

It’s the least I could do, and a first step in repaying my debts to the Star-Banner and the Freedom Forum.

A big excitement of visiting unfamiliar cities lies in exploration and entertainment. Part of expressing that excitement on my trip to Washington, DC, during the Unity convention involved seeing Cody Chestnutt in concert.

Chestnutt disappointed me, way out of proportion with the build-up that I took away from his only LP, The Headphone Masterpiece.

I found out about the show at the 9:30 Club through kismet. During the wait for Sen. John Kerry’s Thursday address to the convention I happened to nosily look over the shoulder of the woman seated in front of me. She had an edition of the Time’s Express, which was opened to a page with the headline “R&B to a T (or Two)”. The brief article offered an advance to the Saturday night “Cosmic Brothas” show. Chestnutt, it said, would headline the night, with Martin Luther, Amp Fiddler and Eric Roberson opening.

My excitement spilled over. I knew nothing of the other artists, save for Luther’s minor appearance on a Roots LP. But what I knew of Chestnutt was that THM offered a delightful four-track experiment in soul music. A coworker had turned me on to the disc, and I quickly learned to revel in songs such as “Can’t Get No Betta,” “Bitch, I’m Broke,” and “Boylife In America.”

Unfortunately, Chestnutt on stage seemed too wrapped up in being a prima donna ar-tist. Fortunately, the show’s set-up put much more emphasis on Luther’s surf-soul California sound.

After the openers, Luther took the stage for two songs, before introducing Chestnutt. The former played the foil to the latter’s fool. Chestnutt played like a rambunctious child on stage, throwing his mic and once even coming close hitting Luther in the head with his mic stand.

The pair worked their way through quality renditions of “The Seed,” Chestnutt’s creepy — though catchy — hit. They also performed what I assume is a new Chestnutt song with protest-ringing chorus “We don’t complain in the streets anymore.” The new track worked up the crowd as Chestnutt asked rhetorically, “Do we want Kerry, Bush or the kingdom of God?”

While working the crowd during the new track, Chestnutt sermonized about creating an underground economy for people to trade their creative efforts. Do you make music, or art, he asked. Then bring what you make to shows, he said, and trade it with like-minded people.

After that, Chestnutt stalked the stage like a lion, holding his guitar out to the crowd like a prop rather than an instrument. Then, he dropped into the crowd, and spent the rest of the show swimming among the concert-goers, signing autographs and shaking hands.

Quite honestly, I was pissed to have spent $15 on a show to see an artist for whom I have tremendous studio respect, only to have him act so unprofessionally. I can appreciated eccentricities and radicalism. However, if Chestnutt wants to spread his revolutionary message, he needs to sell albums — and not just to soul converts.

For him to fly from Atlanta to play two songs wasted my time and his.

Detroit artist Amp Fiddler proved to be the evening’s saving grace. He worked an, at the time, sparse crowd with a sound that blended Roy Ayer’s 70s percussion funk and the casual novelty of Bootsy Collins. That sort of professionalism in entertainment will earn my money in the future, something I wonder about in the case of Cody Chestnutt.