Europe for President premiered on millions of television screens in France, Germany, Austria, and Norway on November 1st…on various American laptops a day after that…in the London contemporary art space Alma Enterprises on November 4th…in Stills in Scotland on November 5th….

So it is Out There but it hasn’t been categorized yet. Is it a documentary, a mockumentary, an art film, or a made-for-television film? Where is it loved/hated most? Until that is established, its safe being a nebulous form of entertainment. It can eat a path to the middle of the earth for all we care.

While various audiences are getting to know who Thomas Altheimer is (a jerk, a hilarious jerk, no, just a jerk, yeah, but I think he has a soft side, he’s a genius, etc), there is another audience for the same-but-different Thomas: Thomas Rasmussen. I didn’t know this other Thomas until the book The Sovereign by Claus Beck-Nielsen came out in September of ‘08. Oh, excuse me, it is actually by Das Beckwerk but everyone in Denmark calls him Nielsen. And everyone in Denmark knows Nielsen. He’s a writer who developed (boredom-induced?) amnesia leading him out into streets of Copenhagen where he wandered homeless for days until the police picked him up and the newspapers revealed his picture with a question as its headline: “Does anyone know this man?”

This was in 2000…

Oh, getting to know men who are getting to know other men who are creating new identities for known/unknown men to make them more known/unknown, and so on and so forth.

Anyway!

This year Nielsen wrote a book about Thomas Rasmussen/Thomas Altheimer and this made Thomas very mad. The two are “best fiends”. One of Thomas Altheimer’s main motivations for being in the spotlight is to rip the light away from Nielsen. One could say that is why he started the whole Europe campaign in America in the first place.

OF COURSE all of this is insane…their own little game. But something VERY STRANGE happened today:

I happen to be in Denmark right now and stopped by Statens Museum for Kunst to see the new exhibition “Reality Check”. Mike Nelson has an installation in the “x-room” that reminds me of a shorter, more minimalistic, more confusing version of Chrisoph Buchel’s “Simply Botiful

In the Mike Nelson exhibtion, you pick which room you want to walk into via various types of doors–you know, the kind that have knobs, doors that make you feel like you are in your house, but that there is a psycho killer lurking in one of the rooms. I tried to open one door but something was blocking it. I kept trying and Dennis–the designer/photographer in the Europe for President crew–gave it a shove. “I think we are supposed to be able to get into this room,” I said.

We gave it another shove and a mysterious-looking young woman inside stepped aside. She had been blocking it and gave us an apologetic/paranoid look. It was an extremely small room and the presence of two other people–one scratching away at something on the floor–made it easy for me to step in and step out quickly, but Dennis stopped me. “That’s Nielsen on the floor,” he said. “Nielsen?” he asked the man scratching away in the corner. The man glanced at us over his shoulder and went back to work on trying to open the parcel, muttering “no, this is not Nielsen! Not Nielsen!” But Dennis and I didn’t leave him alone. He gave another quick look and said, “maybe it is Nielsen.”

And it was.

I finally met the man who fueled Thomas Altheimer. When he realized who I was–his best fiend’s right-hand antagonistic press lead–he perked up with interest and backed away from the package he was trying to break into (part of the Nelson installation). This is the interest of a man who has a never ending hunger for information on his main character. When he looked at me he saw a new keyhole into Thomas. Various people opened the door, looked at us like we were a part of the installation, and closed it. At one point the same man returned and looked at us like we revealed the secret to the whole confusing labyrinthine.

It felt as though we were in a Borges story but it was actually just a bizarre intersection of two stories–of Thomas Altheimer and Thomas Rasmussen. Countless times during our roadtrip across the southwest I questioned how Altheimer ended up on this quest and what/who was he really looking for. Barging into Nielsen in an exhibition called “Reality Check” was like running into the wizard of oz. Nielsen asked me about the status of the film and I told him about the variety of venues involved and how it didn’t really completely fit into any of them. He told me that he discussed the nature of this sort of fact/fiction document with Walid Raad the day before and that they agreed that as long as it didn’t have a home, it was fine.

That’s the update folks: we’re fine.

Dennis watching “I’m Too Sad to Tell You” by Bas Jan Ader (Altheimer’s idol).

Well it happened. It ended.

What I find admirable about the Clintons is that they know how to turn humiliation into a tool. It is somewhat analogous to the late night talk show hosts, sans Jay Leno, who appear humble by constantly making self-deprecating comments about their appearances. The Clintons don’t hide from their scandals and losses—they transform them into something the American people accept with open arms.

That’s what needs to be done with this European campaign. Altheimer must now resolve the complications we faced in Colorado Springs and here in Denver. Like Hillary, he needs to face his failure and convert it into a success. It’s a no-brainer that Europe won’t dominate the US, but his campaign can promote something else close to it, something that is far closer to winning.

As Obama gains strenght, Altheimer continues to dig his own grave. When he whipped out the Europeans Against Obama sign, Carol-Hannah tried to grab it and rip it up. She made her stand by physically brawling with her campaign advisor in front of the convention center. Eventually they walked away from one another–forever.

While Altheimer was angering Obama delegates, Carol-Hannah was ripping all her Europe for President accessories of her person and figuring out which of the four recycling bins they belonged in. A Belgian member of the European parliament approached her and asked for the sign that said European Hope.

Altheimer is a pendulum. Now he is off to St. Paul Minnesota where he may win the hearts of some republicans. A storm brews in the carribean. Everyone is calling it “Hannah”. She finally made it on all the major news channels and found a way to channel all her energy that had been building up on the road through the beautiful southwest. Meanwhile, Carol will vote for Obama. As will I. The Austrian crew will dream of croissants and their own beds on their way across the atlantic with over 30 hours of footage which will air in Europe during the first week of November. I’m back off to California for a three-day romp before I return to Brooklyn. Hopefully, Dennis will join me to San Francisco with his camera.  Check back in to see updates on the film and the footage cut out from my diary. Au Revoir!

©2008 davidrager.org

Note: This is a design by David Rager. Expect to see this on the chests and totes of attractive people across the globe in the coming years.

The Blogger Lounge at the Pepsi Center is a bit chilly. After reading David Carr’s article on “lurking bloggers” at the DNC this morning, I ventured down to the basement basketball court out of curiosity.

It is from here where I watch the activities happening on the floor, although I was running around down there when David Paterson was speaking and, as a resident of New York, I found that slightly exciting. I also watched Kucinich tell us to to “wake up”…and Linda Sanchez recounting her first truly feminist experience when she “threw her arm in the closing doors of an elevator”…and Ted Sorensen project hope for a resurrection of Kennedy through Obama…and Jim Doyle start off with “when I was a boy”. In fact, children and their future here in America is a reoccurring topic in speeches on and off the screen. Naturally, this has a lot to do with the importance Mr. and Mrs. Obama place on their own children, thus a major part of Michelle’s speech last night. Unfortunately, the kiddies aren’t a big part of the European platform.

Yesterday the DNC felt a bit disorienting. Everyone wandered around with furrowed brows of confusion and talked about how nothing was really happening. We were all figuring out our place within the three-day spectacle. Jefferson and Altheimer have been on the floor meeting with delegates and media people. John Oliver from the Daily Show interviewed them yesterday, although it probably won’t air because it functions as political wackiness, squared.

In a few moments Hillary is on. I’ve been writing this post between conversations with various other bloggers. Bonding sessions in the name of democracy and sarcasm! Back with more on our favorite senator (??).

There was a great deal of anxiety this morning, my first day in Denver, and it revolved around this blog. If someone had asked me a few months ago whether blog-related anxiety was something I could imagine in my future, I’d unhesitatingly shake my head N-O. I don’t keep a blog in my “regular life” and I only read five or six, namely Jimmy Stamp’s Life Without Buildings.

Judging by the stats, the readership for this blog is rising daily (the natural result of driving around in a giant white van that says EUROPE FOR PRESIDENT), but I haven’t offered much insight into what has been going on in the past three days.

Several factors play into this, but I mainly attribute it to the general ennui that Colorado Springs offered during the three days we stayed there. Everything felt like new weird america up until that point. It came to a screeching halt when we checked into a Hampton Inn, which was surrounded by a giant parking lot, an Outback Steakhouse, a Carabba’s, and a movie theater. All our momentum and “European hope” disintegrated in the Springs. It was just the same old America—new developments, conservatism, and corporations.

Here is a comment by “Milk Man” which can be found in our guestbook:

After seeing these guys shooed away from several store fronts here in Colorado Springs, then watching the fearless leader of a male hippie type sitting on the sidewalk with a cell phone to his ear and a cigarrette hanging out of his mouth I’ve decided not to vote for them. I guess it must have been to hot for them today 8/22/08, as the last time I saw their female candidate and film crew, they were entering the local Liquor Locker for some livations and I guess?/(hope) on to Denver and greener pastures as we sure don’t need them in the Springs.

It was also in Colorado Springs where Carol-Hannah and Altheimer started to divide on multiple issues.

Let me back up though…

WALSENBURG

After our bizarre afternoon in San Luis, we crept into Walsenburg, CO. Something told Altheimer that this was the place where we’d run into pure xenophobia. It is all about confrontation and provocation for him. This is how he gathers his research—by collecting the initial reactions people have to his concepts and sticking them in his box. Something which is becoming heavier and heavier with weak arguments.

We all set up camp with our laptops and cameras at the small coffeehouse/yarn store on Main Street and the first person we talked to was a woman from the Faeroe Islands. She spoke fluent Danish and German with the crew. This was Edla, the owner of Edla Yarns and Coffee. She was very sound in her political views and pointed out all the problems with European politics over a single cup of coffee. This encounter startled Altheimer into space cadet oblivion. Meanwhile, the next generation of Walsenburg encroached upon us on their wheels.

Later that day I drove the van around while Altheimer hung out a window announcing our next “event” through a loudspeaker. We planned to serve the good citizens of Walsenburg wine and cheese (literally and figuratively) in Heritage Park, a tiny plot of land next to some railroad tracks. But Altheimer was so spaced out he kept announcing the wrong things: “Meet us in Bryant Park in New York city at Five!” and “Heritage Park for president 2008!”

Edla, her husband, the staff at Huerfano Journal, and a few others gathered around us. Again, Altheimer was slipping all information. This was when I realized that all the facts and fictions were blurring into something else…something bad.

PUEBLO

We left the wine and cheese charade and drove in the direction of a famous BBQ restaurant en route to Pueblo. Everyone was a bit maudlin and swept away by the sunset. This soft moment was ruptured by the vision of a huge car accident—all the cops, fire trucks, and ambulances in the southern region of Colorado were there. The story is that it started as a brawl in the BBQ place involving drugs and men running out in the fields to hide them, then a cop car chase which sent a truck tumbling over on to its backside. We spoke to other witnesses at a nearby gas station. Altheimer took off his Europe for President pin out of respect. Another glimpse into the truth behind this project—that it is all a big joke. There is no room for jokes during a tragedy sometimes.

Pueblo greeted us with a shirtless man. His motorcycle was parked next to our van in the motel parking lot. “Is this a common thing?” Altheimer asked the man. “Forgive I am from Europe and people don’t walk around with their shirts off there.”

This brings me to another point—the fact that this blog isn’t all that political. Sometimes I want to inject more political theory into it, but it doesn’t seem right. Our campaign trail is more about getting to know America through the mind of a European madman/academic. Multiple vignettes unravel around us.

Where does Pueblo fit into the story? Cops and the bookstore. During our day there, Altheimer wanted to confront cops, but spent most of his time chatting with the intellectuals at the local independant bookstore. We also met this woman, Rita, who offered to take Hannah Jefferson’s place in the event that we needed to change candidates.

COLORADO SPRINGS

The Low Points:
*the parking lots
*unsuccessfully getting onto a military base
*the general feeling of malaise in the crew.
*Altheimer stopped eating completely and started generating nothing but time-consuming and utterly pointless ideas “just to create a stir”.

The High Points:

*Eating dinner at professor Mark Smith’s beautiful Bavarian chalet. He teaches economics at Colorado College and gave Altheimer a handful of great tips regarding our campaign—namely regarding the message EUROPEANS AGAINST OBAMA. After hearing Altheimer’s views on politics and spectacle, he advised the slogan change to EUROPEANS AGAINST SITUATIONISTS. He told Altheimer that he was flip-flopping too much as well. Carol-Hannah and I are creating our own sign: AGAINST EUROPEANS AGAINST OBAMA.

*The development of article in The Colorado Springs Gazette.

–this is VK signing off after writing the longest blog post ever. Jimmy at LWB would probably tell me it was too long, but you have no idea—you, dear reader, if you are still with me up to this point—how much I have left out. More on the meat of this journey—the DNC–in tomorrow’s post. Again, thanks to Dennis for the pictures. I took the one of the shirtless man though…

Taos stress.

Two of the three birds. The other one was too large to capture with a camera.

Altheimer bonding with other political freaks.

Bookshop owner in Pueblo, Colorado.

The children enjoyed our rally in Flagstaff.

We ran out of banana peels.

Desert bonding.

“Is this how it was in my boyhood dream?”-Altheimer’s thought bubble during the meeting with fireman, shortly before his dream came true and the European flag was placed on the bag of a truck!

Thanks to Dennis for these pictures!

“Our reasonings grasp at straws for premises and float on gossamers for deductions.”

-Alfred North Whitehead

Minimalism and extremism can be condensed into a one-letter word: I. Altheimer believes in this word. As his team, we make up a slightly larger word: flock. But the winds have been changing across the American southwest. Birds are acting strange and we are turning into a family.

In New Mexico we drove along a dirt road and stopped to explore the land: nothing but cacti and a large dead bird sprawled across our path. We drove on and a small grey bird flew into the grill of our van while I was driving. I’m usually biking around New York. I haven’t contributed to the road kill population in years and years.

In San Luis, Colorado, we stopped and ate Mexican food. Dogs roam this town freely. A large catholic church on a hill overlooks “the oldest city in Colorado”. There was a funeral for the priest of the church the day we rolled in. Theresa, the cook, rapidly took our orders and then closed up the restaurant to pray for him and watch his coffin lowered into the soil.

Dennis spotted a bird that was trying to fly away from a roof but couldn’t. Its small foot was tied up in trash that was trapped within the roof. We found a ladder and he saved it. One possible ending for this campaign: We discover Dennis is the messiah!

Three birds. No Direction. European hope. Obama or McCain? None of the above? Vote Jefferson then.

Next up: Reports on Walsenburg and Colorado Springs

-VK

On our first morning in Taos, Altheimer discussed the filming of the filming of Don Quixote—and specified the flood scene…which practically begs for disaster to strike this campaign. That may be the contemporary equivalent of saying “Macbeth” in a theater, but Altheimer is sure that if he ever goes to hell, it will look like Taos. “The people of the red willow” turned him into a childish monster. Within the first waking hour of being in this crafty town, we were already plotting our next move.

“Carol Hannah” (“Carol, I mean, Hannah!”) and I went out for a decadent Sunday brunch while the men figured out what they wanted to do. When we returned to the parking lot where Altheimer was meeting with Taos locals and tourists, his anger spilled in front of the camera. He criticized us, the two American females, for being incompetent and careless. “This town is a bunch of hippies! I don’t want to talk to hippies!” He blamed me for putting it on the itinerary. His disregard for his own role as “the decider” seemed to be absent from his criticism of the campaign crises. “This isn’t a campaign anymore! It is just a movie!” He kept throwing his precious ideas notebook at us or onto the ground.

At a nearby café, Altheimer ordered milk and retreated into his silent little boy shell—one I’d only seen glimpses of during the journey. He has reached identity crises with being a leader. When the kind teenage waiter asked Altheimer if he was from Europe, Altheimer just looked at him with a vacant expression. The boy pointed at Altheimer’s tag and slowly said “Europe for President?” Altheimer nodded slowly while sipping on his drink. “I don’t want to go conceptual when I’m having my milk.”

What we managed to squeeze into this dreary day was a campaign commercial filmed on Native American private property (yes, we trespassed).

VK reporting from the road to New Mexico.

The Fundraiser Dinner at Becky Daggett’s Newly-Renovated Home

On our first night in Flagstaff, Becky Daggett, an extremely active member of city council, hosted a fundraiser dinner for us at her home. Since each person “donated $1000” to attend, Altheimer dragged his feet to the nearest suburban grocery store and stocked up on finger food and booze.

The guests were a varied and intelligent bunch. Several political science professors from Northern Arizona University were in attendance, e.g. Andy Kruse, who focuses on environmental issues and owns a company that produces wind generators for the southern region of Arizona.

Also, Al White! Vice-mayor and guitar player extraordinaire, he stumbled across Flagstaff on a cross-country journey from Massachusetts to Los Angeles when he was on his way to work for television. He found himself working on keeping Flagstaff beautiful instead.

At the end of the night, I was driven home in a convertible by Jasmine, an ebullient seventeen-year old who eventually became our campaign cheerleader.

The Nurses at Flagstaff Hospital

The morning following the fundraiser dinner, Richard the cameraman, needed to go to the hospital due to a fractured ankle. My past experience with hospitals in the States has always been horrendous. They make you wait forever, the staff is rude, and then they charge you an arm and a leg for a prescription of painkillers and a bandage. The Flagstaff Hospital proves this wrong.

I’ve tried to avoid mentioning Richard Prince during this journey because he was too easy a reference to compare our experience. Cowboy culture, motorcycle sightings, and bad jokes are intrinsic to Prince’s art and make up several of the layers in this bizarre campaign journey—but hot nurses?! I never expected us to encounter that. Well we did and they were mighty flirty with Richard. More down-to-earth than Prince’s nurses, but gorgeous and unbelievably accommodating.

The Firemen

Since he was a little boy, Altheimer has dreamed of seeing an American fire engine ride off into the sunset with a Danish flag flapping behind it. Actually, he told us it was a European flag, but there was no European flag back then so I am taking the liberty to correct his childhood memory. Yesterday we made the fire station our most important destination in our door-to-door campaigning.

We showed up at one station right as the garage doors were opening and the truck was setting off with the sirens and the lights a flutter. We sat in the parking lot and brainstormed over a way to meet with fire fighters. We considered options such as starting a small fire or putting Hannah Jefferson up in a tree and reporting that our cat was stuck. As referred to in a past post: Tanner ’88 on peyote!

We successfully met with the firemen via the regular means of communication: calling the chief and telling him we were making a movie. He directed us to a station where we met with a few firefighters. They expressed their concerns with Arizona being a Right to Work State—something that was on the verge of being changed until the new mayor, Karla Brewster, was elected to office. Jefferson explained that Europe’s free healthcare and history of strong unions would improve the conditions of their hazardous occupation. They supported our mission and Altheimer’s dream came true.

The Haters

The hecklers in the square! On the evening Second Child played in the square and gave the stage to us for ten minutes to talk about our campaign, we received our first vocal protesters. Two older gentlemen bespawled about God and how he’d built this country. “Get back on the boat!” Expect to see footage of this in the next few days!

Whispers: “those Europe people are here.”
A passing pick-up truck: “Get your faggot ass back to Europe!”

Altheimer kept repeating the faggot line to himself for the rest of the day as though it were Wordsworth.

This campaign has its fans as well as a fair share of skeptics, but why do people hate us? There are individuals (see our guestbook) who are seething. Do they feel threatened? They think everyone in Europe is a homosexual. We are gaining a new awareness of the small-minded America. As Alexis de Tocqueville states in Democracy in America: “The word of a powerful man which by itself reaches the passion of a silent gathering, has more strength than the muddled shouts of a thousand speakers.” (211).

I don’t really think Altheimer is that powerful of man. He is just a maniac. He’s…the Danish Larry David. Mixed in Napoleon’s stubbornness and Scooby-Doo’s clumsiness.
But he is creating fear in people and like any charismatic leader type, this gives him strength.

Exit from Flagstaff

The night of the “French girl” was our last. Marianne Dissard, Tucson singer whose album is being produced by Calexico, put on a highly anticipated performance in the Monte Vista Martini Bar around the same time Altheimer and Jefferson appeared on Channel 2 news. Prior to the show she shared some vodka with us in the Clark Gable room and told us about her French-ness.

On our way out of Flagstaff we passed three women and a man dressed in funereal outfits, holding up umbrellas and a sign that read WOMEN IN BLACK AGAINST WAR AND VIOLENCE. Altheimer hopped out with his styrofoam platter of Chinese food and spoke with them in the rain. He commiserated with them over hecklers. Our final exchange in Flagstaff was a gathering of political freaks.

We’d like to thank everyone in Flagstaff who made our stay here memorable and invigorated us to keep going with the campaign trail. I’d especially like to mention the trains that run through the city all day and night, Becky, Al, Jasmine, John, Marianne, Marcos, Charlie the naked guy, Macy’s Coffee Shop, Brews and Qs, the firemen, Monte Vista Hotel, Second Childhood, and even the haters. We love the haters, too.

The next post will include far superior images taken by Dennis Orneborg. Hopefully, I will also have some video footage of all this madness.

Before I go into the amazing response we have received in Flagstaff (next post), here are some scales:

On a 1 to 10 scale, reality is at a 6.5.  This could be improved if Altheimer didn’t keep slipping up by calling Hannah “Carol” in public.

The hostility scale is at a 5.  In Los Angeles it was higher, but it was counteracted by…

The Flirtility Scale!!!

Yesterday, I noted this to be a 7:

On our way out of Los Angeles, we stopped at a lavanderia in Boyle Heights to wash socks. Despite the fact that is a largely Hispanic neighborhood, a Belgian man wandered over to our van. Jefferson stepped out and practiced her French to discuss the problems with America. He expressed a great concern for America’s estrangement from the rest of the world. “America has lost its positive reputation. It isn’t known for anything but bad things now,” he told Jefferson. She embraced him and gave him a stack of flyers. A tear appeared and the corner of his eye and a smile spread across his face. “We could make this country beautiful again,” he told us. Meanwhile, Altheimer was passed out from a hangover in the backseat of the van.

While we were stuck in a stau near San Bernardino, Altheimer woke up. He marched up and down between cars with a sign that read EUROPEANS AGAINST OBAMA. This inevitably created a stir amongst all the Obama lovers in their cars. Boos and hisses poured out of the cracked windows and Altheimer casually spoke to all of them, encouraged them to vote for Europe. He also blocked the interstice that the motorcycle drivers were using the pass us. Now I understand why he wants me to keep the small camera rolling at all times. We can’t risk missing footage of him getting shot.

Our desert road trip has restored hope in the most cynical man in the universe. In all this nothingness, he has found happiness.

The next post will be a special on Flagstaff and why it is one of the most politically charged towns in America…

-vk