RFK Jr. Seaside in Portland Maine
Bad blow drys, ill equipped vegans, lobster roll expectations, new BBQ rib acquaintances, liberal street fear, Israel addressed, late night hotel bar confessionals
“The most important thing for everybody to do is to express compassion for the people right now, particularly all the children suffering in Gaza. Israel is doing more right now to protect human life and has done more over the past 16 years to avoid this outcome than we would expect of any nation in the world.” - RFK Jr.
November was all a blur.
Looking back, I can't remember in what order we landed where. According to my notes, after Cape Cod, we ended up in Portland, Maine, on the 8th to document RFK Jr.'s appearance at a historic waterfront event space.
— Quoted Notes—
Champagne from bartender
Falling down stairs
Jersey ladies question my yellow spray tan - its actually saffron stained fingers
Denise’s first blow out fails us both
Should’ve known by the girl who left before us
Run into couple on the street complaining about our flat blowouts. When we tell them we’re going to see RFK they run away and tell us not to talk to him.
Gay man at bar — martini (head of gay choir) loves politics for women - one selfie - kisses me on the cheek when I leave him
“He needs to build an army - mainstream is against him” - RFK supporter
He wants to Pardon Julian Assange - LIKE!
Passport cards for free - LIKE!
“Honest as daylight “ - RFK (what a quote)
Calls covid “Information chaos” - LIKE!
Circular structure // hero’s journey
“Get called to an adventure greater than themselves”
We stay up till 3am to catch a car to Airport
Snow on the drive back
My phobias return — letting someone else take the wheel, worried about him falling asleep
So tired I’m delusional & seeing things - my eyes burn ( bad)
Off the top of my head, what I do recall is terrifying turbulence, a rough landing, Denise and I screaming, a white-knuckled grip on the armrests as we hit the ground, and a mental vow never to fly sober again.
A bucket of Champagne on ice at the hotel greeted us with a note wishing us a pleasant stay, dated 2022. A slight simulation kink, perhaps?
After two hours of a dreadful surrender to an L.A. housewife marathon on cable, I collapsed and napped until midday.
Later in the afternoon, on our way out to grab coffee, I took a dramatic tumble down a bricked stairway at the exit because I was too focused on my phone. Everyone who knows me knows that stacked wooden clogs are going to be the death of me. Another humiliating fall was just another reminder of that, landing me flat on the sidewalk as four women approaching started clapping. "You're doing great, sweetie!" they shouted and suddenly, all six of us were laughing together. These women had been kicked out of their hotel the night before for being too loud. Apparently Portland has low tolerance for late night loud mouths.
Then again, I know very little about this place. Based on limited research before the fight, I learned that Portland, Maine, was voted number 8 on the Best Places to Live list, and takes special pride in all of its locally made items, touting them as "made with ingenuity and integrity." L.L. Bean was founded in nearby Freeport, after all. The Bean Boots are still made in America. A few notable pop culture and literary icons, including Judd Nelson and Stephen King, were also born in Portland.
Because it was such a short trip, there was no time for tourist exploration. An old church with a Black Lives Matter Banner strung across the front is as far as we got on our walk because it was too cold and too windy to push on any further.
On a whim, and because we were painfully exhausted by a series of ping-pong flights bouncing us between both coasts, I decided to book us both hair appointments. I found the nearest salon —the only to accept last-minute bookings and scheduled two blowouts. Denise had never had one (a proper salon one, anyway), so it was my treat to show her how conveniently wild hair like ours could be refined in an hour.
In this scenario, I was supposed to be Richard Gere and her - Julia Roberts with the shopping bags = a new “sophisticated” identity.
Honestly, I should have known by the posters on the walls that we were heading into disastrous fate. Every trite liberal talking point was tacked to the lobby walls of this salon, vegan mantas a’plenty.
Waiting for her to call us, I watched her decloak one woman who looked like she’d just been given a stiff Russian doll transformation. It wasn’t pretty. I nudged Denise, small regret already building.
When I saw the blowdryer drop down from the ceiling, I knew we were done for. I sat there watching with horror as she abused Denies’s head with a furious round-brush that never once tilted or turned upward to lend any effort at creating new volume to her (many) layers. When she was done, we had to avoid each other completely because we could not contain our laughter. And, I was still half way concerned with being polite. I thought with a little direction I might have better luck.
I was wrong.
When I asked a few minutest in, if she could turn the brush up instead of pulling my hair in strips straight downward, she replied: “too late now.”
I text Denise, sitting a few feet away, “Who TF is doing my hair? Amber Heard’s cousin?”
When it was over she charged me $100 each. I took one look in the mirror and scribbled my signature on the recipe with seething resentment. It’s one thing to be bad at blow outs. It’s another thing to be bad AND charge top dollar for it. The confidence in today’s unskilled customer service industry kills me.
On our way out of the salon, an older couple overhearing my complaints approached us asking what happened. I explained the vegan haired hit job, pointing to our identically flat heads as proof. The man asked what event we were in town for. When I told him we were there to document Robert Kennedy Jr.’s appearance in Maine, the woman beside him, her hair cut short and tinted blue, screamed aloud at this answer, pushing an index finger straight at our face, saying simply: "NO!"
"Do NOT listen to him!" she warned before literally running away from us with him trailing after her a few steps too slow.
"That was weird," I said to Denise.
"This whole town is weird!"
After the flat hair dilemma, we headed back downtown to find the celebrated lobster rolls that Portland is known for. Thankfully, those didn't disappoint.
At the event, we met up with a dapper-looking Keith Amato, who escorted us down along a stretch of scenic sea-life into the event space where townsfolk were happily gathered to get acquainted with the guy they hope has a shot at the White House.
Some corporations don't want free markets, and they don't want democracy. They want profits. And they use our campaign finance system to loot our commons, to steal from our treasury, and the other shared resources of our community - the air, the water, the public lands, the wildlife, the things that belong to all of us that are held in trust for future generations. Corporations cannot act philanthropically in America.
- Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
Israel Addressed
The room was nicely packed. After the speech, they invited questions from the crowd. A man in a mask behind me demanded Kennedy explain his stance on the current conflict in Israel. The interaction was the first and only time I’ve ever felt uneasy at one of these events, if only because he was standing so close that his jacket sleeve was touching my arm. His aggressive approach was relatively alarming coming from behind. I fought the urge to try and escape him. It also shifted the tone in the room. Kennedy's personal security detail grew noticeably tense as they rearranged standing points to form a tighter barrier around him at the podium while he spoke.
He handled it with acute effectuality. It’s the first time I’d seen him so heated. A nice break from his typically measured demeanor.
In a five-minute response, he offered a brief breakdown of how Hamas succeed in evolving and expanding as a terrorist network following their violent takeover. Some of it was news to me. Pointing to his kneecaps, describing how they shot Palestinian authorities in charge before throwing them off the highest high-rises, is a visual that stuck with me. Something I still think about all these weeks later.
As footnote, during my live feed, commentators complained about crying babies in the audience ruining sound quality. The complaints started a comment debate in real time asking if people should walk out when their kids misbehave during a speech. I voted yes. I've dealt with many situations involving crying kids at events, and I've always felt it was respectful to take them out and away from the situation. Others said it should be embraced as a fundamental life aspect of these kinds of appearances. Kids at political events should be normalized, tolerated, and encouraged. I agree, but still say take the tantrums away if you can. Out of respect. Especially when it involves someone like Kennedy, who people are sometimes struggling to understand. It's unfair for everyone who might only have this one opportunity to hear a candidate they like speak.
After the event, a local BBQ haunt was reserved for a more intimate meet and greet. The food was delicious and the crowd friendly and candid, willing to discuss why they came and what they were looking for in this election. The most common response revolved around change. Most admitted they want something (someone) different. Kennedy, for them, is that.
At the end of his speech, in a corner of this restaurant, he mentioned that he would like to be remembered as being “honest as daylight.” The phrase I love. I add it to my notes when I return to our booth.
At the end of the night, after befriending a few of the campaign staffers who had traveled from various parts of the country, we carpooled back to the hotel bar, resolving to stay up all night together instead of waking at 3 am to catch 5 am flights. In a desolate booth with lousy lighting, we regressed to college-style antics, pouring ourselves wine and laughing well past midnight over work tales — stories included the pressures of placing a seafood order for the first time in front of Bobby at Cape Cod, facing the judgment that comes with choosing shrimp tacos over, say, oysters or cod. Or losing him on trails and later finding him in a bush trying to determine a specific mushroom breed, insect, or exotic snake.
In exchange for these intimate (and hilarious) tales, Denise and I showed them examples of merchandise we liked and snapped at the JFK Museum, noting how all of today's candidate designs sorely overlook simple campaign aesthetics that the senior Kennedys were so brilliant at. As example, we showed them a felt embroidered "Kennedy" belt and the "Sock it to 'em Bobby" tees from his father's campaign—all thin-lined, plain, but artful.
In a quick revision, they tried it on several designs but missed the mark each time by adding additional shadows or unnecessary overlays.
"Like this?" they’d ask, showing a new mock up.
"No!" we answered repeatedly until one finally matched the one in the photo from the 60s.
"We're only here to help," I reminded them, before we parted ways to head back to our room to gather our things, placing cold washcloths on our face to stay awake until the Uber driver came to collect us to take us back to the airport to head home for a bit before a whirlwind in Palm Beach would seek to claim us.
Okay first of all, I live in Ca and also 8 miles out of Portland Maine and Portland is NOT Maine. It’s like a weird vortex but I do go there once a week to walk around. I love Maine so much and the politics aren’t as weird as let’s just say California. I wish I was here while you were because I could share my Hunter S. Thompson stories with you and shield you from bad blow outs and blue haired ladies. ❤️ love ya. Keep going. You’re making a difference and keeping the world honest.
JRK- please make merch !!!! xo, me and my entire family 🥹