I bailed on Governor Ed Rendell today.

Oh don't get me wrong. He's still getting my vote. But I bailed on him. I just walked out. See ya, Gov.

See, I had volunteered to help out at his HQ today. I was scheduled to arrive at noon and stay until 3pm. I had the impression that they were counting on me. That's what they said on the phone. "We're counting on you, Dustin." They even called 3 times this week to confirm that I was coming. That's a lot of human resources devoted to securing the volunteerism of yours truly.

But when I got there today, it seemed like they weren't counting on me anymore. No one really wanted to see me. I signed in on the volunteer clipboard and then waited for a little love. The receptionist took my name and said she'd get the volunteer coordinator as soon as she was off the phone. No problem. Of course she's on the phone. She's securing more important volunteers like me to come down and help.

Eventually the volunteer coordinator--let's call her VC--yelled a hello from the back of the room and asked if I wanted to go to a rally. "Sure," I said. But I didn't really want to go. I'd had vaguely West-Wingish visions of doing important work at the campaign headquarters--you know, that little extra oomph of volunteer spirit that gets me appointed to high office. No one would see my oomph at a rally.

Unless maybe I got to be ON STAGE. "I'd love to go to the rally."

The VC chain smoked and made cell phone calls while we walked over to Love Park. She was upset that the rally had been scheduled for 12:30 today because it wasn't a great time for getting people out. I was upset that she wasn't paying more attention to me.

When we got to the rally, it turned out that attendance wasn't so bad. A bunch of labor unions had turned up and the crowd was pretty enthusiastic. There was the Pennsylvania Federation of Teachers, the Stage Hands Union, the Philadelphians Against Santorum, and the Local 19, whatever they were. Admittedly, one of those groups isn't a union as such, but they were pretty unified just the same in their disdain for Santorum.

The most important thing you need to understand about this rally is that it was cold. Cold! And I was dressed for vaguely-west-wingish office work. Rob Lowe would play me in the episode. This would be problematic since he'd already played another character, and since the show is off the air, but with the magic of television, anything is possible.

And if Rob Lowe is unavailable, I'll play the part myself.

But in the meantime, there I was--gloveless and scarfless, freezing it out at the rally. I got a Rendell for Governor sign from an intern, realizing in the process that she was going to get my political appointment, and was then told by the VC where exactly I was to stand. She then headed off to the back to coordinate her smokes.

So I stood through this hour-long rally, alone and cold, and feeling a little heart-broken by politics. I was warmed by the words of the current and (perhaps) future congress people like Lois Murphy, Patrick Murphy, and Allyson Schwartz. By soon-to-be Senator Bob Casey. By my mayor John Street. By the governor himself. And even by John Edwards--who in a simple business suit must have been far colder than me, and yet he somehow managed not to shiver a bit.

In fact, none of the politicians were shivering. And they were up on the stage, exposed to the winds. Could they be... cold-blooded? No. I can't bear the thought. These were the democrats. My guys! No, surely they were just wearing a thin layer of thermal underwear--undetected but effective.

The rally ended at 1:15. Plenty of time left on the volunteer clock. The VC encouraged me to hurry off to the office where, she promised, there would be pizza waiting. But I needed something stronger than pizza. And the VC was clearly not going to walk me back there herself. She had other things going on. She's an organized person, as they say.

I made it about half a block towards the HQ. Then I ran into a couple of friends and convinced one of them to come to my place for tea. Warming my hands on a mug of warm tea, with a cat at my feet and a friend to chat with, I felt no guilt for abandoning my governor. I'll be there for him on election day. And when I pull that lever--or hit the enter key, since apparently its all computerized now--I'll smile at all those missed moments he and I could have had. Ed, my Martin Sheen in the state capital. Me, his Rob Lowe in Harrisburg. Or so it could have been.