Yesterday, I headed to the local VFW hall to check out the first meeting of a local tea party organization. By a slip of the left-click button, I'd sort of joined the organization and wrote about being an accidental tea partier in my Feb. 16 column in the Argus/Dispatch.
I waited until the thing had been going on for a couple of hours and then drove to the hall. In the parking lot were ten cars. Unless tea partiers travel like clowns packed in Volkswagens, this was a small turnout.
Then I did the math. The event was advertised as having six scheduled speakers, a solo singer/guitarist and two bands. Add to this the two organizers and the guy from the VFW with the key, and it looked like the event had attracted a crowd in the negative numbers.
So I didn't go inside. I hate parties, but they're not too bad if you can mix in with the crowd. This would have been like going to a visitation at funeral parlor and finding no one there but the family and having to say something nice about the deceased, even though you're glad he's dead.
