Sometime back in the ’70s, I read an issue of Guitar Player magazine with Carlos Santana as the cover story. This was back in his Devadip Carlos Santana days when he followed guru Sri Chinmoy, his picture always next to Santana’s monitors during live performances. Anyway, Santana told the story of attending an Elvin Bishop show and how his mix of good times blues and rock made him realize that the highest form (or level, or some such) of spirituality is joy. Santana concluded the observation by noting if he couldn’t have joy, then he didn’t care much for spirituality.

This came to mind earlier today when contemplating two seemingly disconnected events, one being the now concluded BlogCon in Charlotte and the other a blog post by Jennifer Dailing Waite detailing her frustration with, and anger toward, God over the daily sorrows she bears. She has very legitimate beefs: a father who passed away far too soon, her husband’s difficult and genuinely dangerous job others sneer at because he’s a government employee, a house that stubbornly refuses to sell leaving her and her family’s living arrangements in limbo, and a son mentally and emotionally kept away from her and everyone else as he’s locked up in autism’s mocking prison. It’s the latter that is sapping her strength and faith the most.

I call the two things disconnected because despite BlogCon being, at least in theory, all about promoting blogging and the blogging community while educating bloggers on how to do things better, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum. Based on tweets from those present, it was in fact an extended session of tongue baths, mutual admiration society sessions and as much partying as could be crammed into three nights and two days. Oh, and a lot of people claiming affiliation with Andrew Breitbart’s legacy.

Really?

As I mentioned the other day, although I never met nor spoke with Breitbart, based on numerous reports from those who did I have no doubt that had we ever met and actually conversed beyond a brief himynameis moment he would have taken the time to look up this modest little way station on the information superhighway and offered it, i.e. me, a hand up toward increased exposure. From his associates I’ve learned to expect no such thing. It’s a mixture of ironic and disappointing that the closest association I’ve ever had with anyone on Breitbart’s roster came when the Daily Beast linked to a post I wrote detailing Dana Loesch, in my opinion, behaving foolishly. There’s something about aggressively engaging your enemies yet not giving those on your side the time of day I’ve never quite fathomed. Perhaps it’s just me.

I’m hardly alone in this regard. There are many writers out there, truly superb writers, who deserve maximum exposure far, far more than I do yet never receive their just share. Either they don’t kiss the right ass (or don’t kiss at all), or they don’t go to the right parties… er, conferences, or what have you. Whatever the reason may be, they’re not welcome. As a result, the world to which we’re supposed to be communicating truth suffers.

Last night on Twitter, after having read one too many “look at me — SQUEE!” comments from BlogCom attendees I ranted: “I started blogging to express opinions, share information and communicate with people, not to join some eternal high school clique. Blogging’s purpose should be ‘what do you think of this idea, news, opinion or analysis.’ Not ‘look at MEEEEE!’ Blogging is supposed to be a non-hierarchical entity when people of like mind share with, and promote, each other based on common beliefs.” When I read Jennifer’s post this morning, these thoughts crystallized all the more.

There’s certainly nothing objectionable in people of like mind gathering together to share ideas and information along with enjoying one another’s company. And if some of us can’t go for financial reasons, or as in the case of Jennifer not able to leave family for a number of days, that’s life and there’s no sense in becoming angry. Hope everyone who is going has a great time; hopefully those of us not there will in time get a turn on the carousel. However, when what should be a group effort splinters into cliques making no effort to enrich the whole, there’s a problem. And no, pounding down brewskis in Stephen Kruiser’s hotel suite isn’t advancing the conservative cause or helping anyone not in attendance.

Of what use is a BlogCon, or RightOnline or what have you, to those not in attendance? Do they encourage attendees to reach out to those not there, letting them know blogging by people of like minds is an inclusive entity? Or are the fortunate hotel and convention center dwellers so busy consuming red meat and ego strokes in-between photo ops and pounding down shots they forget there is a community outside their door?

What it comes down to is that all people matter and many of them have something worthwhile to say, not just the ones who can afford a ticket to the party. When you’re feeling like mus adulteri Dei because you’re at wits and faith’s end, it’s difficult to not wonder if it’d kill people to put the drink down long enough to reach out to you. We may be rat bastards, but we still like to look at the city of lights and dream of one day being welcomed by its residents. So how about it?

The beautiful people, all send their excuses:
(Real estate and sex lives, livestock and ex-wives)

But the poor are coming, the lame are running
In their sleazy clothes and orthopedic shoes
There’s a harelip spokesman shouting out the news

“Come to the banquet at the world’s end!”

There’s a string ensemble, and the King’s court jester
Telling parables and big jokes, to mongoloids and old folks

The blind are seeing, the dead are breathing
And the mummies dance in geriatric style
The amputees are rolling down the aisles

“Come to the banquet at the world’s end!”

Candlelight and party hats, duck and pheasant under glass
Aluminum walkers, thin white canes, caviar and pink champagne
The bride and the groom waltz on
Club foot lane at the banquet at the world’s end
The banquet at the world’s end
The banquet at the world’s end

Say the beautiful people (the poor are coming)
“We’ll live with the lights out (the lame are running)
Leave us alone now because (the blind are seeing)
Hell feels like home now” (the dead are breathing)

Meanwhile…

But the poor are coming, the lame are running
In their sleazy clothes and orthopedic shoes
There’s a harelip spokesman shouting out the news

“Come to the banquet at the world’s end!”
“Come to the banquet at the world’s end!”
“Come to the banquet at the world’s end!”