then sent us south along the Pasquotank River. Taylor woke up like a dog sleeping during a long car trip, sensing the shift in speed and the dramatic tension as the humans approached their destination.
“Ron Paul is gay,” she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
It took us another twenty minutes to find the airship’s launching point, delayed by a wrong turn into Elizabeth City’s modest airport.
The launching sight was a dreary field owned by Airship Management Services, the company renting their blimp to an LLC started by Ron Paul supporters. Liberty Political Advertising was a completely grassroots effort with no involvement and barely a mention from the Ron Paul campaign. This sort of polite disavowal from Paul became a standard practice. His overzealous supporters and their deep pockets, when combined with strict campaign finance and spending laws, meant Paul could barely give these oddball groups a wink of approval.
The unofficial nature of the event showed in the disappointing attendance and the lack of media attention. A few dozen people were milling about next to a large wooden Ron Paul REVOLUTION sign. Some sat in lawn chairs, huddled beneath camping blankets and sipping travel mugs full of coffee. The more hale and hearty youth were in sweatshirts and even T-shirts, laughing and enjoying the spectacle of the blimp being topped off in preparation for its launch.
CSPAN, of all things, was blasting loudly from speakers.
It didn’t strike me as an atmosphere befitting something as conceptually awesome as a blimp launch. Not exactly a crowd getting pumped up and rocked like a hurricane .
Tucker tried to introduce me to Trevor Lyman, but he was talking to someone from a real media outlet and I did not feel like standing and watching him get interviewed. Lyman was half of the brain trust behind the Ron Paul blimp, the other being Elijah Lynn, the Alan Colmes to Lyman’s stocky, square-jawed Sean Hannity.
Lyman was too busy with the camera, but I shook hands with Lynn briefly. He seemed friendly but preoccupied with preparations for the launch and not interested in answering questions. Alan Colmes probably isn’t a fair comparison for Lyman. He was more like a really pale and shifty-eyed Willem Dafoe.
Looming behind us at a respectable distance was the blimp. They were already preparing to launch and the 190-foot-long white blimp was hovering about a foot above the ground. It was impressive. It was a giant, white bomb of buoyant truth swaying gently from side to side on its mooring cables.
I understood from Tucker that there had been a great deal of effort and money sunk into the printed graphics displayed on the side of the blimp. It was emblazoned with the Randian question, “ WHO IS RON PAUL ?” in twelve-foot-high text. Beneath that, in smaller lettering, was the suggestion to, “ GOOGLE RON PAUL .”
Investors, supporters, well-wishers, and people who planned to attempt to shoot the blimp down with rocket launchers could track its progress on the blimp’s website. A map displayed its current location and regular updates were made to its schedule of appearances depending on the funds raised by the LLC.
“It’ll fly right over the interstate on the way to rallies and cities,” Tucker said, marveling at the huge flank of the blimp. “People will see that.”
“And then they’ll Google Ron Paul?” I suggested.
“Right,” Tucker agreed.
“From their car?”
“Well, they’ve got phones you can Google on,” he said.
“While they’re driving?”
“People do it,” he said, growing a bit irritated. “Or they could be stuck in traffic. Or what if they’re a passenger?”
“Then they could Google Ron Paul on their phone,” I suggested.
“Right,” Tucker agreed. “Or write it down and Google it when they get home. Or…”
He trailed off and never finished the thought.
“Can I ride in it?” Taylor asked, and started to run toward the blimp.
I watched as Tucker chased her
“Ron Paul is gay,” she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
It took us another twenty minutes to find the airship’s launching point, delayed by a wrong turn into Elizabeth City’s modest airport.
The launching sight was a dreary field owned by Airship Management Services, the company renting their blimp to an LLC started by Ron Paul supporters. Liberty Political Advertising was a completely grassroots effort with no involvement and barely a mention from the Ron Paul campaign. This sort of polite disavowal from Paul became a standard practice. His overzealous supporters and their deep pockets, when combined with strict campaign finance and spending laws, meant Paul could barely give these oddball groups a wink of approval.
The unofficial nature of the event showed in the disappointing attendance and the lack of media attention. A few dozen people were milling about next to a large wooden Ron Paul REVOLUTION sign. Some sat in lawn chairs, huddled beneath camping blankets and sipping travel mugs full of coffee. The more hale and hearty youth were in sweatshirts and even T-shirts, laughing and enjoying the spectacle of the blimp being topped off in preparation for its launch.
CSPAN, of all things, was blasting loudly from speakers.
It didn’t strike me as an atmosphere befitting something as conceptually awesome as a blimp launch. Not exactly a crowd getting pumped up and rocked like a hurricane .
Tucker tried to introduce me to Trevor Lyman, but he was talking to someone from a real media outlet and I did not feel like standing and watching him get interviewed. Lyman was half of the brain trust behind the Ron Paul blimp, the other being Elijah Lynn, the Alan Colmes to Lyman’s stocky, square-jawed Sean Hannity.
Lyman was too busy with the camera, but I shook hands with Lynn briefly. He seemed friendly but preoccupied with preparations for the launch and not interested in answering questions. Alan Colmes probably isn’t a fair comparison for Lyman. He was more like a really pale and shifty-eyed Willem Dafoe.
Looming behind us at a respectable distance was the blimp. They were already preparing to launch and the 190-foot-long white blimp was hovering about a foot above the ground. It was impressive. It was a giant, white bomb of buoyant truth swaying gently from side to side on its mooring cables.
I understood from Tucker that there had been a great deal of effort and money sunk into the printed graphics displayed on the side of the blimp. It was emblazoned with the Randian question, “ WHO IS RON PAUL ?” in twelve-foot-high text. Beneath that, in smaller lettering, was the suggestion to, “ GOOGLE RON PAUL .”
Investors, supporters, well-wishers, and people who planned to attempt to shoot the blimp down with rocket launchers could track its progress on the blimp’s website. A map displayed its current location and regular updates were made to its schedule of appearances depending on the funds raised by the LLC.
“It’ll fly right over the interstate on the way to rallies and cities,” Tucker said, marveling at the huge flank of the blimp. “People will see that.”
“And then they’ll Google Ron Paul?” I suggested.
“Right,” Tucker agreed.
“From their car?”
“Well, they’ve got phones you can Google on,” he said.
“While they’re driving?”
“People do it,” he said, growing a bit irritated. “Or they could be stuck in traffic. Or what if they’re a passenger?”
“Then they could Google Ron Paul on their phone,” I suggested.
“Right,” Tucker agreed. “Or write it down and Google it when they get home. Or…”
He trailed off and never finished the thought.
“Can I ride in it?” Taylor asked, and started to run toward the blimp.
I watched as Tucker chased her
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