Next week, thousands of us will be pouring into Minneapolis for a jubilant cacophony of hugging, learning, laughing, crying, speaking, listening, organizing, strategizing, schmoozing, and (yes) boozing. And that's just while standing line at the registration desk.
You'll see me there, the chubby grandmother with orangey hair, helping all those other volunteers get your namebadges and registration materials, give you directions, soothe your frustrations (and probably make a few new ones). We're also all over the place at Netroots Nation, getting folks to the right sessions, passing out information you might need as you enter a keynote-speaker room, picking up lost things and handing out found things, shamelessly hawking t-shirts and shilling for the amazing vendors in our exhibition hall. We're the ones you can come to, bleary-eyed before your first cup of coffee, to explain that you lost your namebadge the night before in a particularly vicious pub challenge, only parts of which you can remember, and we won't make your head hurt worse by giving you one of those really, really loud stern looks that you'd get at other conventions.