the boy can sing

People are always asking me if my kids can sing. Granny Bishop was a good singer. Both Mom and Dad are good singers. Debra, the kid's mom is a good singer. I don't see how Casie and Christian could be anything but good singers - and they are.

Casie was once one of the Gaither Homecoming kids. She starred in a video where she showed her acting, singing and dancing skills; and all of it under tremendous stress and a grueling shoot schedule. It was tough work, but she performed like a talented pretty little trooper.

Christian is a musician and a singer. His drumming skills are awesome (keen timing) and he knows how to present and hold the right note with his voice. Last night he performed with his high school choir and then stepped out to do a full solo. He sang an old Bishops song. I was sooooooooo proud. I met Mom and Dad at the school and we got in the building early enough to get good seats toward the front and in the middle.

I followed along in the little bulletin and got more and more nervous as the big number got closer and closer. When it was finally his turn I grabbed the camera and hoped I was recording something more than his feet. I wasn't about to watch my boy through a lens. The music started, and all of the sudden it was me and Christian. I think everyone else left the room. At least it seemed like it. When it was over I noticed Mom was crying - or had been.

So it wasn't Carnegie Hall. For a moment there though, the Estill County High School auditorium was the most prestigious concert hall in all the world. Christian Bishop delivered a masterpiece and made it that way.



Several years ago I was at a monumental cross-roads in my life. Even though my options were limited, I was having trouble settling on which way to go. There were lots of voices with lots of advice, but the one that offered as much compassion as info was Zachary. I needed space to rest and think. He offered it. I needed a friend with the ability to help me sort my things out. There he was. He was a lifesaver for me. I'd tell him I'm forever in his debt, but he'd draw up a payment plan. He's not perfect, just good.

There are friends you trust and believe in, then there are friends you rely on. I'm very fortunate to have lots of the trust and believe type. Then there is the one I can't imagine not having around to share my good and hard times with. Everyone needs someone they can just be wide open with, someone to keep them on balance and focused. In my life that position is filled by Zachary.

Incidentally, his initials actually spell his nickname. So happy birthday Z.A.C.! I hope to be able to return the favor one day.



I have a really good friend who grew up in Nicaragua, and since he's known of our country, he's wanted to be here. As a youngster, he wondered if the children of the United States knew just how fortunate they were. He imagined they all had beds of their own, that all of the little boys had shiny, new bicycles and the little girls rode ponies. He heard of our great melting pot early on and dreamed himself of what it must be like to live in a world where dreams really do come true. The stories, he said, spoke of our land as though it were a sort of biblical place that flowed with milk and honey.

I don't know that I've ever seen anybody so proud in all of my life, unless it would be me. After waiting so long, doing what was necessary, taking the test and the oath, and reciting the Pledge, my friend is now one of us. He's been here for about a decade now, but just a year or so ago he became a naturalized US citizen. It was a long, tedious and expensive task. But he was determined since arriving here to make this his home. Before coming he'd made up his mind that he would not ask for assistance, and he would not wait for an opportunity. He would make his own and do what he could to support himself now while planning for the future.

There are those who don't take the time to get to know him. Their prejudice will not allow it. He says he understands, but I still take issue. I've never asked him to forget his heritage or his customs. He speaks English quite well, but I still ask him to give me some Spanish from time to time. I was on the edge of tears when he recited,

Juro fidelidad a la bandera
de los Estados Unidos de América,
y a la república que representa
una nación bajo Dios,
indivisible cón libertad
y justicía para todós.

Imagine it now in Polish or German, maybe Italian or Hebrew, or one of the languages your great, great grandparents might have spoken.

got myself some constitution

Remember School House Rock? Growing up in the seventies and eighties, the Saturday morning math, grammar, science and history lessons set to music were the savior some of us needed to pass the next exam. "Conjunction Junction, what's your function? Hooking up words and phrases and clauses..." "I'm just a bill. Yes, I'm only a bill and I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill..." Those were so cool! Thanks to the catchy little tune, I was able to memorize the Preamble to the Constitution. That saved my butt a time or two. The guys back in 1787 probably had no idea they were crafting some of the most memorable lyrics of modern pop culture.

Two hundred and twenty one years ago today a group of men, thirty-nine in all, met in Philadelphia and came to an agreement. That's reason enough to shut down the banks and call it a holiday right there. Get that many Baptists to agree on something... We already had a confederal government. This document though would spell out and set up the working order for a brand new, more centralized way of doing government on a national level. So, sometime that Monday, the US Constitution, minus the twenty-seven amendments we know today, was signed, but not necessarily sealed.

Getting nearly forty guys to come to terms on something so complex took about four months of serious give and take. Now the task was convincing at least nine of the thirteen states to go along. When New Hampshire signed off on June 21st, 1788 the deal was done. Eventually all the states agreed of course, with Rhode Island finally joining the rest of the country in May of 1790. Understand too that they were the only state to decline the invitation to Philly about two and a half years earlier. Since they didn't offer any constitutional input, they weren't sure they even had a dog in this fight.

Something else very interesting: If a state chose not to ratify, they didn't have to belong to the Union. They could be their own little nation in the middle of a nation. Wouldn't that be awkward and all?!

Hindsight being what it is, there were some obvious flaws in the original plan. Thus all the eventual amendments. Initially, slavery was tolerated, even promoted, and according to the original thinkers, some people weren't even considered completely human - just slightly over half a person. As genius as they were, they were not infallible or even without prejudices. But they were men willing to sacrifice and lead. They were forward thinkers who knew that not everyone would appreciate their ideas. That is admirable.

So, today we celebrate the world's oldest federal constitution. Those of us who enjoy the freedoms and liberties that our founding fathers worked to establish, either originally or eventually, should be grateful and humbled. Personally, I think there's more work to be done. I'm certain there will be a variety of ideas and deeply held convictions that will always keep us from a unanimous understanding. But maybe that's not a bad thing. Remember the quote, "If two people always agree on everything, one of them is not necessary."

I hope at the very least we listen while the other guy talks and do our best to keep the conversation intelligent. There's still so much to learn.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Today is also Citizenship Day. It is a day set aside to "recognize all who, by coming of age or by naturalization, have become citizens.” I have friends who were born somewhere else in the world, but have recently become citizens of the United States. They now vote and get involved in the process of government and community. They can't understand why so many life-long Americans don't. Frankly, neither do I.


thinking of nqc

In 1957 my mom was only nine years old. My dad was thirteen. It was the year that J.D Sumner and a couple of the Blackwood Brothers got together and started the National Quartet Convention. The first couple of years Memphis played host to the then three day event. But over the years it would move around the south, first to Birmingham then Atlanta, back to Memphis and eventually to Nashville. For about the last fifteen years the now week long Southern Gospel Music event has been living in Louisville, Kentucky.

This is NQC week. As close as it is to where I live I've not had a chance to get over and enjoy it. And when I go I do enjoy it. The concerts are always good. I love the variety of music and styles that comes across the stage. I enjoy some more than others, but even the ones that aren't favorites are still appreciated and respected. They deserve at least that much.

My first NQC experience was in Nashville a little over 25 years ago. I didn't know anyone. No one knew me. I mean, I knew who most of the big names and personalities were, and was absolutely mesmerized when I saw them standing in line at the concession stand or walking through the exhibit hall. These were my heroes. They were the people I'd seen on television and heard on the radio and wanted to be like. And here they were right in front of me - and not on a stage. They seemed awfully normal to be such, such stars.

My first trip to the Convention was a fact finding mission. Our group had just made the decision to record for the Eddie Crook Company, and Dave Wilcox, the A&R guy, said we should think about setting up a booth there to let folks know who we were. So, I decided to at least go down to learn a bit about the set up. I don't remember seeing the part time and regional groups that you see in the exhibit hall these days. Maybe they were there, but they didn't get my attention.

My second trip to the big show was with the rest of my group. We knew so little about anything. We'd been told there was a booth contest. The most creative one won something. We rolled into the Municipal Auditorium in downtown Nashville with enough lumber to build a barn (exaggeration). I remember my brother Mark nearly running over Wendy Bagwell with a load of one-by-sixes. It's a wonder he didn't turn it into a neat story to tell. (We got really close to Wendy later in our career.) I walked around that hall the whole week introducing myself to people I recognized as professional singers, knowing they'd never remember me, but hoping they might. Connie Hopper tells me she actually remembers when I walked up to her, stuck my hand out and said, "Hi, I'm Kenny Bishop."

That first year as an artist at the Convention was exciting. We weren't on the big stage, and there were no matinees in those days, except for the morning chapel service that the owner groups sang on. But it didn't matter. We were a part of that first group of artists that would eventually signal tremendous change in the genre. We came into the industry alongside some of today's real success stories. It was a neat little club; the Greenes, the McKameys, the Perrys, Jeff & Sheri Easter, the Martins and several others. We all took our first bows about the same time. Just ahead of us was Gold City, Heavenbound and the Paynes.

Our first opportunity to take a mic in the big room was in 1988 I believe. Maybe '89. What I do remember was how incredibly nervous we were. I was about to hold the mic that Ben Speer had just used. Probably Glen Payne, Glen Allred or an Echo of some sort before that. Every group but the Inspirations had big, full bands back then. So the stage was large, bigger than any we'd ever stood on. How would we fill it? But it was the anxiety leading up to hearing our name that was the worst part. Once we got out there it worked out ok. I don't think we'd ever sung to so many human backsides in all our lives.

Our ten or twelve minutes on America's biggest Gospel music stage seemed to last for hours. I don't think we said a word. We just sang - kinda like in a fog. When the yellow light came on, telling us we had about three minutes to wrap 'er up and move along, I was ready to stop mid-song and take a bow. We finished though and enjoyed much more applause than we were prepared for. Our first appearance on the NQC stage turned out to be a success after all.



On November 21st of 1963 no one had a reason to believe that they'd remember tomorrow so well. If the people in charge of security for President Kennedy knew the next day's headline they'd have probably done some things very differently. December 7, 1941 started out remarkably like the day before, but once it got underway it seemed it would never end, and it didn't really until V-Day three and a half years later. It still hasn't ended for some.

Unless it was a personally significant time, most folks can't tell you much about September 10, 2001. But our memories become very sharp and clear when we recall the next day. Thinking first that a plane had veered off course and into one of the tall World Trade Center buildings in Lower Manhattan, we felt sadness for the unfortunate passengers, crew and occupants. But we didn't feel threatened, not right away, not where most of us lived.

It was my first day on a new job, so once word circulated through the hallways that something big was happening, I joined about a dozen brand new coworkers in a Lexington, Kentucky office building watching the morning move in slow motion on a big screen TV that was usually used for company presentations. Reporters were saying that they knew nothing for sure, not even the size of the plane that accidentally hit the building or how it could've veered so badly off course. Several where I was were on their cell phones checking in on family. Then, when we saw on live television the second plane hit the second building and it dawned on us that the first one was probably just as big and just as deliberate, we were speechless and all of the sudden afraid.

All the speculation and questions and eye witness reporting that was going on on the ground and in the studios and news rooms was only adding to the anxiety. We had a feeling it was our whole nation that was being attacked, but we knew too that the most personal and painful wounds were several hundreds of miles away. Our fear couldn't equal their hurt.

As the morning crept along we learned of two more hijacked planes, one that targeted the Pentagon, and another that was bravely taken over by a group of selfless men and women who refused to live any longer if it meant injuring their country. By the end of the day the skies were completely and eerily silent. People were praying. Our leaders were planning, and the images of what should've been a forgetful day were etched deep enough to never be erased.


pigs and lipstick, boy!

Way back decades ago when this current presidential race thing was first getting started one of our US congressmen here in Kentucky took a few licks on the chin and eventually apologized for referring to Senator Barack Obama as "boy." I know Congressman Davis. He is in no way whatsoever a racist and in fact has little tolerance for anyone who is. The context of his remarks, given during a political rally speech, were not intended to be racist, but were immediately grabbed and distorted by some who wanted to discredit his person (he was running for reelection) for their own political advantage. So, even knowing that he meant nothing even remotely bigoted, he offered his regrets just so he could move on and win the election. And he did.

What? What did he say? Did she just say what I thought she said? Did he mean to say that - that way? Oh no he di-unt!! Semantics and accusations of meaning and taking one word of one sentence of one paragraph of one speech completely out of context seems to be in super abundance during this presidential race. The finger pointing is beginning to come across as childish and whiny to me. Both campaigns are doing it. The political commentators are doing it. The bloggers are doing it. And sadly, people at the water cooler are doing it.

Yesterday Senator Obama said something about a pig and lipstick. The McCain/Palin folks screamed foul. They say Barack was referring to the lady governor. He says he wasn't, it was a reference to trying to dress up the same old way of doing things in Washington. The M/P folks should know that. Their candidate used the same exact phrase several months ago when they thought he'd be running against Hillary. If she was offended I don't remember hearing about it.

It's mostly hypocrisy. A few days ago former president Jimmy Carter was in the middle of an interview when he does exactly what Geoff Davis from Kentucky did. The same people who kicked and screamed and accused the congressman of practically carrying a kkk card did a nervous cough, turned their heads and pretended they didn't hear anything. To be fair, it really ought to be a goose/gander sort of thing.

Parsing words is one of the things about campaigns that frustrates me. We want the candidates to be honest and frank. Yet, they are not allowed to say what they mean in a direct way for fear of being taken completely out of context. It's getting to the point that no one in public service can say anything that might maybe even in the most remote way be possibly considered somewhat or even just a little bit something that could be turned inside-out or vaguely not nice.


leave room for the holy ghost

It seemed pretty normal to me. I remember as a youngster going to church and seeing older men and women who were married to each other sitting on opposite sides of the building. It wasn't like they were fighting or anything. That was just a tradition that started way back when and they didn't see a need to personally change it. Another tradition in our church was having the whole congregation kneel at the altar that stretched across the front of the sanctuary. I remember the first time I went up and took a wrong turn. I was gently directed by an older woman to the men's side. I wasn't offended, but if I'd been paying attention I would've known. It also didn't occur to me when I hugged my nice, lady Sunday School teacher that we just didn't do that sort of thing. And if we did we certainly had to leave room for the holy ghost.

Our church also practiced foot washing. It goes back to Jesus' point when he told his disciples that they should be servants willing to do the most humbling of tasks for their fellow man. Since he did this the same time he served them the cup and the bread, we felt we should follow his example and do the same thing from time to time. So, about three or four times a year we'd schedule a foot-washing service. But we didn't believe in mixed bathing, so the women would go to one room, the men to another and we'd wash away.

Maybe it's because of those experiences that it seemed a little uncomfortable to me to watch Senator John McCain wrap his arms around Governor Sarah Palin the other night - and a few times since then. I've seen Barack and Joe Biden hug and it didn't bother me. And even though it was forced, it didn't seem strange when Senators Obama and Clinton locked in awkward embrace a time or two. Maybe it's because she is a more manly woman.

I was wondering if anyone else had noticed the GOP hugs when I read a piece somewhere yesterday - on AOL I think. The etiquette experts were talking about what is appropriate and what isn't. I forget what they said. Something like an extended arm hug is ok as long as the arms are horizontal and not locked or something like that. Back in the mid-eighties when we had our very first mixed gender ticket Walter hardly ever touched Geraldine. But then again, we weren't that far past Ricky and Lucy sleeping under the same blanket either.

I don't have issues with a presidential candidate and his running mate hugging - as long as Cindy and Mr. Palin are fine with it.


rent - one last time

I'm a RENT junkie. Actually, that's probably not the best way to describe my fascination with the musical-turned-movie-but-never-left-Broadway-until-it-closed-this-past-weekend. But I am a fan, and now I'm sad. One of the most impacting and emotional dramas to know that stage has ended its run. Anyone who didn't get to see it has really missed out.

Back a couple of years or so ago I wrote about the impact this genious piece of theater had had on me. It reminded me of the smallness of my thinking and my own world. It also reminded me of the first words my daughter said to me when we stepped off the subway and she really saw New York City for the first time. "Dad, look at all of the different kinds of people." We made our way to the Nederlander Theater to see the show before we left town. It had an impact on her too.

You'd have to click way on back in this journal to find my earlier thoughts on RENT. So, if you'll indulge me, I'm gonna repeat my original post from December 31, 2005.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
*Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes,
How do we measure, measure a year?

We have some great opportunities ahead of us. A whole new year with fresh months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and even seconds to do something meaningful and life-changing. How exciting is that? But maybe I'm jumping the gun.

I've never seen the Broadway play Rent. But I have seen the movie version, and I really liked it. I loved the music, and the talents of the actors/singers/musicians/dancers left me jealous and inspired. To me the story-line was dark, sort of depressing and mostly presented only one side of some pretty serious issues. But the lessons learned while I looked in on the gritty lives of a group of struggling but determined friends were invaluable. The presentation was very in-your-face, and the way some of the issues are raised and handled may go against your ideas and convictions. But I'd recommend catching it if you think you can see these characters as living real life in a real world. You'll either feel deep compassion for them in their struggles, or as one of my notable Christian friends said, "They brought their problems on themselves. They were just reaping the fruits of their lifestyles."

Distrust for the system, abundant trust in each other, dedication to their beliefs, and unconditional love among friends were the more obvious points I gathered while in the theater. You couldn't miss the obvious bonds that were formed among those who were living a tough, unforgiving inner city life together. Death, disease and disdain from the "normal" world were very real. But the less obvious thought that kept crossing my mind was how all of these characters seemed to value and treasure their time together. It's like they knew their days and opportunities were limited, so they took full advantage of every moment. Thus the song, "Seasons of Love," and the lyrics about all the minutes.

This brings me back to the great opportunities that are ahead of us. Imagine our minutes were the talents Jesus spoke about in Matthew 25. The Master has trusted you with something very valuable. So, this year you and I will have 12 months or 52 weeks or 365 days or 8,760 hours or 525,600 minutes or 31,536,000 seconds to risk ourselves while we show charity and mercy to those who need it most, or we can waste every moment on protecting what we have for one more year. I'd like to be able to look back at this time in 2006 and say I invested and spent my minutes wisely - measured in love.

Seasons of Love
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes,
How do we measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee,
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes.
How do we measure a year in the life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes.
How do we measure the life of a woman or a man?
In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried,
In bridges he burned, or the way that she died.
It’s time now to sing out tho’ the story never ends.
Let’s celebrate! Remember a year in the life of friends.
Remember the love.
Remember the love.
Remember the love.
Measure the love.
Measure the love.
Seasons of love.
Seasons of love.

*Seasons of Love from Rent by Jonathan Larson


rnc 3

I'll be honest. I didn't watch much of the Republican's convention last night. I did see Senator McCain's acceptance speech, but as much as I tried to tune in early and follow along with the others, I got bored. Maybe it was two back-to-back weeks of convention coverage that finally filled my political tank.

I like John McCain. I like his no nonsense approach that looks the political establishment in the eye and doesn't blink. Of course, that got him beat when he ran against George W. Bush back about eight and a half years ago. But evidently now we see it as an admirable attribute. Maybe folks are starting to realize that someone who appeals to both political senses makes political sense. But I have friends who feel the same way about Barack Obama.

Senator McCain will tell you that he's not a speech giver as much as he's a town-hall mixer. A lot of people were talking about his need to live up to the RNC speeches of the night before, especially the one given by his new running mate. But at this point, if he did anything remarkably different the people who supported him before would wonder where he'd been or if they voted for someone they didn't recognize. And it's not always about scoring. There's an old saying in politics, although it's most generally true when you're comfortably up in the polls, "Sometimes success is just holding your ground." I think he did exactly what he needed to do to fire up his peeps. He stuck to his message 'til the big balloons hit the ground.

Here we goooo.....


rnc 2

I had friends at the Democratic National Convention who called and sent me text messages while they political partied in Denver. It was neat getting their perspective from the actual dance floor. I have friends doing the same thing from Minneapolis this week. They're keeping me in the loop on the goings on with the Republicans there. Both said it was electric and exciting and almost spiritual to be in such a place with so many like minded people. I'd expect it to be. It's like corporate worship or mybe more like a mob. It's hard not to feel something.

I ran into a neighbor yesterday afternoon. She and I were talking about this out-of-the-blue governor from way, way out west who magically appeared as John McCain's VP choice. Neither of us knew enough about her to talk intelligently. My initial reaction of course was hoping that she wasn't picked JUST because she is a she. For her to be viable, there needs to be something substantial to her. She'd have a chance to state her case in a major way on the big stage, but sharing the microphone with some of the most clever political talkers in the world would give her even more to live up to.

I remember once standing backstage in a big auditorium waiting for our singing group to be introduced. What happens just before the announcer calls your name is very important. That person sets the stage and the mood and determines whether your first two or three songs are gonna be heard or wasted. This particular night was a booger. The emcee left a lot of the work to us. Just before he brought us to the stage he told this terribly sad story about something I can't even remember now. I do remember though having to dig our way out of a very depressing hole for the first song or two or three. On the opposite side though is when the person on the stage just before you steals the show and runs off with it.

Rudy Giuliani is one of my political heroes. He knows how to inspire even his enemies. If I thought I had to follow him on the stage I'd be having nightmares. How in the world would you do it? Rudy notwithstanding, I think the speech delivered by the brand-new-to-everyone-but-Alaska candidate for vice president was a home run. She introduced us to her family and her upbringing and her experience. She did the job of the lower ticket candidate by going after the opposition. Joe Biden is going to have to do the same eventually. That's part of the job description. It allows the guys at the top of the ticket to "stay above the fray" and appear more honorable. Part of Senator Biden's problem though is how to hit a woman without looking like a bully (or a sissy).

So, even though the person in charge of her official nomination didn't even know her name, Governor Palin took her only chance at a first impression and ran with it. (The night of her speech, I was on edge up to the moment the announcer pronounced it right. "Ladies and Gentleman, the Governor of Alaska... Sarah Palin.") Mayor Giuliani did his usual thing. So did Mike Huckabee and Mitt Romney. Then it was left to the people who take over the TV after the speech to tell us what they really said.


rnc 1

OK, good call on toning down the first night of the big political convention. Caring for the needy from the dance floor isn't very convincing. I don't think anyone on the sinking Titanic was reassured of their safety when the music played on. OK again, bad comparison. The storm damage on the gulf coast wasn't as bad as a doomed ship, but you get the point. Bringing the first lady and Mrs. McCain out together was a good thing too. Their quiet encouragement and pleasant demeanor was reassuring. But, knowing the political managers behind the scenes, I can only imagine the hand wringing and strategic maneuvering going on to get things back to original business as soon as possible. Considering that no political convention has ever been held this late in the year, I can see why they were so anxious. Tick-tock, tick tock...

So when business got underway on night two it was political convention as usual. And it should've been. The Democrats had a full week to read their script. The Republicans deserved the same opportunity. What was really cool this night though was having a man like Joe Lieberman, who was once in this party's direct line of fire, stand on a GOP stage and be so respected and welcomed. I thought it was nice. He said some great things too. He seems to be such a uniter, but on things that can be compromised on.

Political conventions are supposed to be loud and crazy. Speeches at political conventions are supposed to be raucous and constantly interrupted by chants and slogans. But when Fred Thompson took the stage and began sharing the story of the wounded and captured John McCain, it got just as crazily quiet. I got text messages from a couple of my friends, a Repub and a Dem. They were both moved by his words. He gave such a passionate, entertaining, compelling and emotional account of naval aviator McCain's time as a prisoner of war. He admitted that this doesn't qualify anyone as the free world's leader, but surviving to serve as now Senator McCain does is still pretty remarkable I think. The images formed by the words of a skilled orator can be riveting. Of course, Fred got into the nitty-gritty partisan stuff too. I thought he had some really clever gentle slaps for the opposition.

The only thing that sorta distracted me was the slow-mo waving flag on the huge screen behind the podium. It gave the illusion that the talker was on some sort of moving stage. The wide shots reminded me of that old Patton movie. I wondered what happened to that gargantuan screen they used at the Olympics. Then there was the guy in the audience who kept yelling, no screaming, "Yeah!!" all night long. I don't know why I heard him above the other 25,000 people in the room except that the Kentucky delegation had really good seats toward the front (courtesy of Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell) and I know a guy here who is very politically active and screams at our rallies all the time.

In my opinion it was a cautiously good night for the Republicans. President Bush stopped in via video to say hello. Laura Bush is always a pleasure. I'm really, really anxious now to hear from the Alaska governor.