Friday, August 29, 2008
Day 4 - Oh, What a Night!
Honestly, I'm not sure what to say. This is why I'm here. That may be the best speech I'll ever hear in my life. Simple, elegant, powerful, masterful. I was tearing up at 3 different times. What a truly amazing experience to be on the floor of the Mile High stadium, listening to Barack Obama in front of me, looking up at 80,000 people.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Day 3 - HRC Supporters
In case you're wondering, they're here. Hillary's campaign has been running its own whip (aka, floor) operation, although what exactly they do is still unclear to me. Like much else with the campaign, it seems like it's all for show. The DNC and Obama's whip operations at least try to work together (most of the time). HRC's folks just seem to get in the way.
To be fair, I understand what it's like to work so hard for a candidate who you passionately want to win, and then watch everything come up short. I lived in the thick of it for 14 months in 2003 - 2004. Still, I find my sympathy muted because of the campaign's overwhelming arrogance and sense of entitlement. The more I see of the campaign and its die-hard followers, the less I like them.
I have two words: you lost. Sorry, if that seems harsh. The demise of many great leaders is that they don't know when to stop. And as great as HRC's speech was on Tues night, the campaign overall has not endeared itself to many of us.
Up until 2 days ago, we still weren't sure if there would be a floor fight. We handed out electronic voting devices on Tues night so that we could gauge the voting temperature. Voting opened Wed early morning so that delegations could begin the process during their morning breaksfast. But HRC didn't officially release her delegates until a meeting at 1 pm yesterday, which annoyed the hell out of those of us working with the voting system because it meant that her delegates would either vote early and potentially change their vote (resulting in double paperwork) or vote late (causing more of a time crunch during the roll call). It was like a last twist of the knife, the final dig behind the scenes to let everyone know that she still held some sort of power. It was childish and petty and frankly, unnecessary.
But at this point, it's done. Hopefully, her and Bill Clinton's speeches did much to pacify their supporters and help the see the bigger picture. Even if they aren't wild about Obama, I see little chance of them truly defecting. As HRC said, "No way, no how, no McCain."
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Day 2 (Part 2) - Disjointed Thoughts
My pants are almost falling off. I know it sounds silly and stupid, but these walkie-talkies are about the size, shape and weight of a brick. Add to that my personal blackberry, the work blackberry, and the camera I keep in my pockets, and I'm struggling to keep my pants up. Not to mention that this running around seems to be making my waistline smaller. Now, I don't usually complain about that, but if you see a screen shot of someone flashing the camera, it's not me, I swear. And as a side note, they never tell you how hard it is to go to the bathroom with these things. Yeah, you laugh, but I'd love to see you try to unclip everything and not to drop them in the toilet.
Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, we added 14 fire marshals today. There's one who's very cute. I'll try to focus though...on my job, I mean. And now I see a ring anyway. Too bad. He could have come party with us after work. Oh well. I'll just keep looking around. This is the youngest, most diverse and the most good-looking Convention we've ever had. Plenty of eye candy.
So, I'm standing next to the OH delegation as Kucinich speaks. Not smart. He's so energetic that he's whipping the crowd into a crazed frenzy. I'm getting my freaking eardrums blown out.
And now I'm standing by WI as Gov Doyle speaks. Eesh.
And now by CA as Barbara Boxer speaks. Just my luck. At the rate I'm going, I'll be deaf by midnight.
***********************************************************************
Today was a bit of a clusterf***k. Even with the extra security, we had a slew of real problems interrupted by a bunch of ridiculous ones. Someone in the CA delegation called me over to settle a "dispute" between two grown men that went something like this:
CA delegate # 1: "Can you tell him that he's not allowed to save seats?"
CA delegate # 2: "I have people coming."
CA delegate # 1: "But it's first come, first serve."
CA delegate # 2: "Well, I was here first."
I looked at them like they'd just fallen out of the sky. Really, they called me over for THAT? Because I clearly have nothing better to do. I tried not to show how far my jaw was unhinged, and simply responded with, "I'm sorry, it's not my job to resolve your petty disputes. You'll have to figure this out on your own." I'm sorry, how old are we? Five? I turned around with disbelief written on my forehead and saw one of the security guys standing behind me laughing. I just shook my head. Wow.
A little later, our whole region dissolved into chaos. One right after the other, our group had to move a wheelchair delegate from one delegation to another, saw a fight break out and called an EMT. The walkie-talkies blew up as we rushed to put out all the fires. After that, I went back to the office, took out my earpiece and grabbed a box dinner. I deserved to have an uninterrupted 15 minutes to sit down in peace.
And then it was time to hit the floor again. Warner was about to speak. I don't even remember what happened next, but I know that I missed most of his speech. There was some problem in my delegations that I was trying to sort out, but I've since forgotten what it was. In between Warner's and Hillary's speeches, we were supposed to prepare for tomorrow's official vote. Apparently, CNN was filming crowd / floor shots at that time, because Thompson txt'd me with, "I just saw you on cnn! Black suit? Hair tied back. Chewing gum (or at least it looked like that on tv)." Later, I received a txt from a different friend: "Girlfriend, why were u chewing gum on national tv?" Ok ok, I got it. I'm somewhat flattered that CNN zoomed in on me enough that people could tell what I was doing. At least I wasn't blowing bubbles.
Then came the closing speech. The one we'd all been waiting for. I stood with baited breath to hear what Hillary would have to say. When she took the stage, I saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face, and I instinctively understood it -- she had hoped to be speaking here under a different circumstance. But the look was so fleeting that I almost thought I had imagined it. Within a flash, she was recomposed. Her speech was magnificent. She did exactly what the Party needed her to do. And as excited as I am about Obama, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that they couldn't both win. I mean, I wouldn't have put them on the same ticket, but HRC is both smart and capable. Part of me wonders when we'll see another serious female contender. Only time will tell. I missed the end of the speech to help a few of my disabled delegates exit the stadium, but I heard it was good.
The rest of the proceedings was uneventful, which was nice considering how the evening had gone. After our nightly debrief, I tried to make plans to find a bar, which I promptly had to cancel. A friend offered me a ticket to a party I had really wanted to get into -- the African American gala. Less than two minutes later, another friend said he could hook us up with one of the most coveted parties this week. My feet felt like they would fall off any second, but I was dying to see the party scene. And I needed a drink. So, we party-hopped. We only stayed at the gala for 20 min, but it was long enough to see Boyz II Men perform. We bounced over to the other party at the Invesco field, which is apparently where the Clintons were. I got there too late to hear both of their mini-speeches, but in time for the top shelf open bar and decadent array of hors d'oerves and desserts. We sat outside in the top of the bleachers to enjoy the view and imagine what Thursday night will look like when Obama speaks there. And to think -- we'll be on the floor because that's where all the delegates will be sitting, and we're supposed to be taking care of all the delegates. I'll be on the middle of the floor of an NFL football field, staring up into the 75,000 spectators in the stands. Just the thought of it makes the adrenaline kick in... which is actually probably why I'm still awake. I'm too excited to sleep. But seeing how it's 4 am and I have to be at work again in less than 6 hours, maybe I should try to get some shut eye...
Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, we added 14 fire marshals today. There's one who's very cute. I'll try to focus though...on my job, I mean. And now I see a ring anyway. Too bad. He could have come party with us after work. Oh well. I'll just keep looking around. This is the youngest, most diverse and the most good-looking Convention we've ever had. Plenty of eye candy.
So, I'm standing next to the OH delegation as Kucinich speaks. Not smart. He's so energetic that he's whipping the crowd into a crazed frenzy. I'm getting my freaking eardrums blown out.
And now I'm standing by WI as Gov Doyle speaks. Eesh.
And now by CA as Barbara Boxer speaks. Just my luck. At the rate I'm going, I'll be deaf by midnight.
***********************************************************************
Today was a bit of a clusterf***k. Even with the extra security, we had a slew of real problems interrupted by a bunch of ridiculous ones. Someone in the CA delegation called me over to settle a "dispute" between two grown men that went something like this:
CA delegate # 1: "Can you tell him that he's not allowed to save seats?"
CA delegate # 2: "I have people coming."
CA delegate # 1: "But it's first come, first serve."
CA delegate # 2: "Well, I was here first."
I looked at them like they'd just fallen out of the sky. Really, they called me over for THAT? Because I clearly have nothing better to do. I tried not to show how far my jaw was unhinged, and simply responded with, "I'm sorry, it's not my job to resolve your petty disputes. You'll have to figure this out on your own." I'm sorry, how old are we? Five? I turned around with disbelief written on my forehead and saw one of the security guys standing behind me laughing. I just shook my head. Wow.
A little later, our whole region dissolved into chaos. One right after the other, our group had to move a wheelchair delegate from one delegation to another, saw a fight break out and called an EMT. The walkie-talkies blew up as we rushed to put out all the fires. After that, I went back to the office, took out my earpiece and grabbed a box dinner. I deserved to have an uninterrupted 15 minutes to sit down in peace.
And then it was time to hit the floor again. Warner was about to speak. I don't even remember what happened next, but I know that I missed most of his speech. There was some problem in my delegations that I was trying to sort out, but I've since forgotten what it was. In between Warner's and Hillary's speeches, we were supposed to prepare for tomorrow's official vote. Apparently, CNN was filming crowd / floor shots at that time, because Thompson txt'd me with, "I just saw you on cnn! Black suit? Hair tied back. Chewing gum (or at least it looked like that on tv)." Later, I received a txt from a different friend: "Girlfriend, why were u chewing gum on national tv?" Ok ok, I got it. I'm somewhat flattered that CNN zoomed in on me enough that people could tell what I was doing. At least I wasn't blowing bubbles.
Then came the closing speech. The one we'd all been waiting for. I stood with baited breath to hear what Hillary would have to say. When she took the stage, I saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face, and I instinctively understood it -- she had hoped to be speaking here under a different circumstance. But the look was so fleeting that I almost thought I had imagined it. Within a flash, she was recomposed. Her speech was magnificent. She did exactly what the Party needed her to do. And as excited as I am about Obama, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that they couldn't both win. I mean, I wouldn't have put them on the same ticket, but HRC is both smart and capable. Part of me wonders when we'll see another serious female contender. Only time will tell. I missed the end of the speech to help a few of my disabled delegates exit the stadium, but I heard it was good.
The rest of the proceedings was uneventful, which was nice considering how the evening had gone. After our nightly debrief, I tried to make plans to find a bar, which I promptly had to cancel. A friend offered me a ticket to a party I had really wanted to get into -- the African American gala. Less than two minutes later, another friend said he could hook us up with one of the most coveted parties this week. My feet felt like they would fall off any second, but I was dying to see the party scene. And I needed a drink. So, we party-hopped. We only stayed at the gala for 20 min, but it was long enough to see Boyz II Men perform. We bounced over to the other party at the Invesco field, which is apparently where the Clintons were. I got there too late to hear both of their mini-speeches, but in time for the top shelf open bar and decadent array of hors d'oerves and desserts. We sat outside in the top of the bleachers to enjoy the view and imagine what Thursday night will look like when Obama speaks there. And to think -- we'll be on the floor because that's where all the delegates will be sitting, and we're supposed to be taking care of all the delegates. I'll be on the middle of the floor of an NFL football field, staring up into the 75,000 spectators in the stands. Just the thought of it makes the adrenaline kick in... which is actually probably why I'm still awake. I'm too excited to sleep. But seeing how it's 4 am and I have to be at work again in less than 6 hours, maybe I should try to get some shut eye...
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Words Matter
Turn on CNN...
There's a woman on right now, African American, bawling over HIllary's speech. She's moving an old cynic like me.
Tonight did for Hillary Clinton what she really needed to do not just for Obama or her party but for herself -- create a legacy that her supporters will not forget four or eight years from now.
Campbell Brown, on the CNN panel shot it out clear and straight, "I bet people are wondering why he didn't chooser her as his VP." Did I mention that Bill was tearing the entire speech? Suddenly all those doubts about her not appealing to independents, of dragging down the ticket seemed moot.
It's amazing what a good speech can do. Perhaps Hillary finally got it 18 months later - words really do matter.
There's a woman on right now, African American, bawling over HIllary's speech. She's moving an old cynic like me.
Tonight did for Hillary Clinton what she really needed to do not just for Obama or her party but for herself -- create a legacy that her supporters will not forget four or eight years from now.
Campbell Brown, on the CNN panel shot it out clear and straight, "I bet people are wondering why he didn't chooser her as his VP." Did I mention that Bill was tearing the entire speech? Suddenly all those doubts about her not appealing to independents, of dragging down the ticket seemed moot.
It's amazing what a good speech can do. Perhaps Hillary finally got it 18 months later - words really do matter.
Dissidents Row
Denver appears to be an orderly city. There are streetcars and busses that run on time. The police keep the jam-packed roads moving, even if slowly. There are volunteers with big smiles and bright blue t-shirts readily available to give you directions. Chipotle, born in Denver is almost as common as Starbucks in New York. A Patagonia store takes up a whole block downtown. They use recyclable plastic cups made out of corn and in order not to waste fuel, you can rent or borrow bikes, dropping them off and picking them off at various spots across the city. So neat. So clean. To the point that things are nicknamed after rows in the convention center – Radio row; talk show row; etc etc.
Four blocks off the 16th strip drag where a free bus shuttles tourists and locals through the shopping district and past the Pepsi center (where the convention's being held) is a grassy lawn in front of an assemblage of big stone government buildings that the majority of delegates and media to the conventions will not see.
Its afternoon, the sun's hot and the air is filled with the stench of BO. And I don't mean the Dem candidate. What's ahead of me? A gathering of protestors, beating on drums, chanting, "end the war" and sporting dreads in every shape, length and color.
It looks like your classic protest. Old hippies and young anarchists gathered together to bemoan the state of the world until a bunch of marines in tan fatigues burst through the protests, running instep and shouting "ten hut."
The dissidents jump back. The marines run in place and then leap into ninja poses. Huh?
Who's high now? I rub my eyes maybe this is a weird by product of altitude sickness?
But no it looks like a bunch of marines are taking random martial arts poses in the middle of a bunch of stinky commies.
(I'll get to the commie part I promise.) The marines then grab each other, grapple and a female marine gets hoisted overhead and carried off screaming. Four armored cars filled with swat team members, carrying machine guns and wearing protective riot gear drive by.
Where am I? When am I? Have I just been warped back to 1968?
And then this scream cuts through the confusion, "What you're seeing is street theater but these marines served in Iraq and this is what they go through everyday?"
Really? Since when do American marines pull Jackie Chns in the middle of airport road?
Vampy Goth girl, chesty, heavy with knee high black boots that have stumpy heels continues to shout. A cop comes over. She rushes forward to shake his hand.
"Hello authoritarian earthling I appreciate your law abiding presence in keeping the peace," she might as well have said.
The cop looks aghast. As if he’s about to radio: “The Martians have landed.”
And the Martians are communists. It’s a code for being cool.
Guy in Che Guevera t-shirt shouts out, “Communism rocks.”
A perky girl with a yellow wrist band flirts with a guy.
“You’re a communist,” she giggles. “That’s cool. I love communism.”
And as I keep walking, it proliferates. Welcome to Dissidents Row. The orderly and polite people of Denver have relegated the outcasts, and the anarchsits, the communists and the we wear Guevera shirts cause its cool crowd to their own little row on and around the grounds of the state capitol no less.
The irony turns me into a political Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. I’m McCarty one moment, turning up my nose at the guy that selling thet-shirts that caricature Cheney and Bush and Obama too as Mr. Burns like figures. Feeling a self-righteous indignation as irrational as their dissonance. The next minute, I’m the girl with the yellow arm band, giggling and winking at the old commie selling “Make Out Not War” posters.
Make out. Make up. Make do. 21st century politics is about a well choreographed dance, and even the flat footed ballerinas have a role to play, thudding across the stage a momentary distraction from the primas primping behind the curtains.
Four blocks off the 16th strip drag where a free bus shuttles tourists and locals through the shopping district and past the Pepsi center (where the convention's being held) is a grassy lawn in front of an assemblage of big stone government buildings that the majority of delegates and media to the conventions will not see.
Its afternoon, the sun's hot and the air is filled with the stench of BO. And I don't mean the Dem candidate. What's ahead of me? A gathering of protestors, beating on drums, chanting, "end the war" and sporting dreads in every shape, length and color.
It looks like your classic protest. Old hippies and young anarchists gathered together to bemoan the state of the world until a bunch of marines in tan fatigues burst through the protests, running instep and shouting "ten hut."
The dissidents jump back. The marines run in place and then leap into ninja poses. Huh?
Who's high now? I rub my eyes maybe this is a weird by product of altitude sickness?
But no it looks like a bunch of marines are taking random martial arts poses in the middle of a bunch of stinky commies.
(I'll get to the commie part I promise.) The marines then grab each other, grapple and a female marine gets hoisted overhead and carried off screaming. Four armored cars filled with swat team members, carrying machine guns and wearing protective riot gear drive by.
Where am I? When am I? Have I just been warped back to 1968?
And then this scream cuts through the confusion, "What you're seeing is street theater but these marines served in Iraq and this is what they go through everyday?"
Really? Since when do American marines pull Jackie Chns in the middle of airport road?
Vampy Goth girl, chesty, heavy with knee high black boots that have stumpy heels continues to shout. A cop comes over. She rushes forward to shake his hand.
"Hello authoritarian earthling I appreciate your law abiding presence in keeping the peace," she might as well have said.
The cop looks aghast. As if he’s about to radio: “The Martians have landed.”
And the Martians are communists. It’s a code for being cool.
Guy in Che Guevera t-shirt shouts out, “Communism rocks.”
A perky girl with a yellow wrist band flirts with a guy.
“You’re a communist,” she giggles. “That’s cool. I love communism.”
And as I keep walking, it proliferates. Welcome to Dissidents Row. The orderly and polite people of Denver have relegated the outcasts, and the anarchsits, the communists and the we wear Guevera shirts cause its cool crowd to their own little row on and around the grounds of the state capitol no less.
The irony turns me into a political Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. I’m McCarty one moment, turning up my nose at the guy that selling thet-shirts that caricature Cheney and Bush and Obama too as Mr. Burns like figures. Feeling a self-righteous indignation as irrational as their dissonance. The next minute, I’m the girl with the yellow arm band, giggling and winking at the old commie selling “Make Out Not War” posters.
Make out. Make up. Make do. 21st century politics is about a well choreographed dance, and even the flat footed ballerinas have a role to play, thudding across the stage a momentary distraction from the primas primping behind the curtains.
Day 2 (Part 1) - Blogging by Blackberry
Ok, I learned from my experience yesterday. There's just too much damn stuff going on and too much to write about for me to wait until I get back to my place to start blogging. So, I'm trying a new method. Blogging by blackberry. That way, I'll hopefully be able to capture more of the craziness. Warning: these may get very long.
I got woken up this morning by both blackberries buzzing like crazy. I grabbed my personal one out of habit, and then realized that the work one might be more important. Good thing. They need us to pick our credentials an hour earlier than they had told us. Why couldn't they have emailed us that the night before, so I knew BEFORE I went to bed. Hell. That means I had just over an hour to shower and make the 30 minute walk/shuttle journey. I jump out of my bed; the room spins slightly (that's the altitude talking, really) and my legs cry out in pain. I need to stretch, but there's no time. Walk it off, I told myself. Just hurry up and get there. I pick up my cred's. I have backstage access today, although I'm not sure I'll need it. I ask for the lunch voucher. They're out. Really? Who's poor planning was that? Annoyed, I call Thompson and head to Chipotle. Thompson wants to meet me, but gets stuck with work. I scarf down half a burrito -- enough to kill the slight hangover from the night before -- and load up on caffeine. I keep trying to ask for Coke and they keep giving me Pepsi. I know the stadium has Pepsi's name, but it seems the whole city is owned by them too.
Walking to the Pepsi Center. I take a picture of the guys holding the "Rednecks for Obama" sign. And then see the Trojan people handing out free condoms before you get to the security check. Apparently, everyone's concerned about keeping people safe. =) I try to find out where I can get one of their bright yellow shirts that say "Get It On," but I'm told they're not for sale. Too bad.
Just got onto the Pepsi Center. There's a crowd of media in front of the podium, which means there's someone famous. See the blond bob -- Hillary Clinton, testing out the mics for tonight. Pause, take picture, blog, keep walking towards the office, see a few colleagues who got tapped to be on a screen shot of David Letterman, continue to the office, check in, get my walkie-talkie, hang out. We have to be here before the doors open, but we have another 2 hrs before the Convention starts for the day. I've got my feet up. Literally. After being on my feet for 12+ hrs yesterday, my feet and knee are killing me. I should pop some Advil... Hopefully, I'll remember before I start running around again.
It's relatively quiet in here right now - we're just watching the stage run-through. It's our temporary respite before the delegates show up and the madness ensues. The Rocky Mount Children's Choir is singing a beautiful rendition of the national anthem. I have goosebumps. Someone walks up to say we have a meeting...
Meeting's done. We were just briefed / trained on the new mobile tracking devices to help the delegations track and tally their votes tomorrow. We're going to have to train our state chairs to use the devices, and I'm already skeptical. I wonder if it's more hassle than it's worth, but hey, the mobile devices are fun to play with.
Convention has technically started today. I should go out to the floor and start making friends with the security guards and fire marshals. They're good people to know. They stay calm when everyone else goes crazy. And they're great backup when people much bigger and pushier than myself start being belligerent. They're adding another 14 fire marshals to the floor tonight to help with crowd control. I'm civil and polite to everyone, but if you're not where you're supposed to be, I'm going to have to move you. Yesterday, I had a classic case. As I was clearing the stairwell, I asked people to keep moving -- order from the fire marshal. One young woman jumps up with a shocked expression and says to me, "Do you know who that is?? She's a Member of Congress!" I smiled and nodded. "Yes, I know, but she's still not allowed to stand here." The man next to her jumped up and said, "She can have my seat." "Whatever you want to do is fine," I replied, "but we can't have anyone in the aisles." I think they were shocked at how little effect the name game has here. If you have Secret Service or your own security detail, you're ok. Otherwise, you better have the right credentials.
Umm, ok, I just heard that Mitt Romney is here. Uhh, what? I'm off to investigate...
I'll be back again when I get a chance. Who knows when that will be. I have no ideas if / what parties I'll hit tonight. The next two nights will surely be long, and I need to pace myself. And you never know when credentials will show up or disappear. I've told some of my friends before -- I never believe anything in politics will actually happen until it actually happens. I've seen too many last millisecond changes. So much of this is luck and happenstance.
I got woken up this morning by both blackberries buzzing like crazy. I grabbed my personal one out of habit, and then realized that the work one might be more important. Good thing. They need us to pick our credentials an hour earlier than they had told us. Why couldn't they have emailed us that the night before, so I knew BEFORE I went to bed. Hell. That means I had just over an hour to shower and make the 30 minute walk/shuttle journey. I jump out of my bed; the room spins slightly (that's the altitude talking, really) and my legs cry out in pain. I need to stretch, but there's no time. Walk it off, I told myself. Just hurry up and get there. I pick up my cred's. I have backstage access today, although I'm not sure I'll need it. I ask for the lunch voucher. They're out. Really? Who's poor planning was that? Annoyed, I call Thompson and head to Chipotle. Thompson wants to meet me, but gets stuck with work. I scarf down half a burrito -- enough to kill the slight hangover from the night before -- and load up on caffeine. I keep trying to ask for Coke and they keep giving me Pepsi. I know the stadium has Pepsi's name, but it seems the whole city is owned by them too.
Walking to the Pepsi Center. I take a picture of the guys holding the "Rednecks for Obama" sign. And then see the Trojan people handing out free condoms before you get to the security check. Apparently, everyone's concerned about keeping people safe. =) I try to find out where I can get one of their bright yellow shirts that say "Get It On," but I'm told they're not for sale. Too bad.
Just got onto the Pepsi Center. There's a crowd of media in front of the podium, which means there's someone famous. See the blond bob -- Hillary Clinton, testing out the mics for tonight. Pause, take picture, blog, keep walking towards the office, see a few colleagues who got tapped to be on a screen shot of David Letterman, continue to the office, check in, get my walkie-talkie, hang out. We have to be here before the doors open, but we have another 2 hrs before the Convention starts for the day. I've got my feet up. Literally. After being on my feet for 12+ hrs yesterday, my feet and knee are killing me. I should pop some Advil... Hopefully, I'll remember before I start running around again.
It's relatively quiet in here right now - we're just watching the stage run-through. It's our temporary respite before the delegates show up and the madness ensues. The Rocky Mount Children's Choir is singing a beautiful rendition of the national anthem. I have goosebumps. Someone walks up to say we have a meeting...
Meeting's done. We were just briefed / trained on the new mobile tracking devices to help the delegations track and tally their votes tomorrow. We're going to have to train our state chairs to use the devices, and I'm already skeptical. I wonder if it's more hassle than it's worth, but hey, the mobile devices are fun to play with.
Convention has technically started today. I should go out to the floor and start making friends with the security guards and fire marshals. They're good people to know. They stay calm when everyone else goes crazy. And they're great backup when people much bigger and pushier than myself start being belligerent. They're adding another 14 fire marshals to the floor tonight to help with crowd control. I'm civil and polite to everyone, but if you're not where you're supposed to be, I'm going to have to move you. Yesterday, I had a classic case. As I was clearing the stairwell, I asked people to keep moving -- order from the fire marshal. One young woman jumps up with a shocked expression and says to me, "Do you know who that is?? She's a Member of Congress!" I smiled and nodded. "Yes, I know, but she's still not allowed to stand here." The man next to her jumped up and said, "She can have my seat." "Whatever you want to do is fine," I replied, "but we can't have anyone in the aisles." I think they were shocked at how little effect the name game has here. If you have Secret Service or your own security detail, you're ok. Otherwise, you better have the right credentials.
Umm, ok, I just heard that Mitt Romney is here. Uhh, what? I'm off to investigate...
I'll be back again when I get a chance. Who knows when that will be. I have no ideas if / what parties I'll hit tonight. The next two nights will surely be long, and I need to pace myself. And you never know when credentials will show up or disappear. I've told some of my friends before -- I never believe anything in politics will actually happen until it actually happens. I've seen too many last millisecond changes. So much of this is luck and happenstance.
Scenes from Denver
I’m takng shelter in Starbucks. There are 15,000 journalists covering the conventions. 15,000 people trying to tell an audience of a few million that everything is stage managed, choreographed, there is no news but we’ll try our best to make some up as we go along.
To encourage competition and fractious infighting, the credentials committee at the DNC has come up with a byzantine system to manage the media horde. There are four levels of credentials – for the perimeter (i.e. you go through an hour of security checks to stand outside the pepsi center while the rest of your comrades in arms head inside.) The “arena” simply that. You get to stand by the concession stands where tabls are crammed with radio production units, claimin to broadcast from the convention center the heart of the action. Sorry buddies, the creds don’t get ou that far. Next levels: “hall” and “floor” these actually get you inside where people are speaking. Back in the day this was coveted, back when there were floor fights, and delegate counting and where a politically mad milieu let loose with abandon. Now you get to walk around and talk to the delegates, who are all on message.
I’m already over the Democratic love fest. Anyone who can squeal with delight over cheesiest ending to an “I want to prove to you how much I love America speech” doesn’t deserve my time or subpar interviewing skills.
But don’t worry. Journalists are great at masturbating. Instead of taking the temperature of the street we take the temperature of each other. Forget the cable news pontificators, and turn to the voice of the people. The bloggers, the netroots, who are assembled in a massive tent “Big tent” on Wynkoop street between 14th and 15th in the heart of downtown Denver. This is the first year that bloggers have been treated with RESPECT. They have credentials and a place to gather, where they work, and google, and interview each other on what it means to be a blogger. In the space of 15 minutes at the “Big Tent” where the bloggers and online journalists are gathered, I have seen six interviews of bloggers and assorted journalists asking each other what it’s like to cover the convention.
To make the exercise in narcissim legitimate though, Katie Couric walks in with a big mike and a ten man entourage to ask the very same question.
Yes, conventions are the voice of the (Democratic) people. And with 15,000 journalists at hand to bring you their stories, the level of navel gazing is at an all time high. But maybe I'm just bitter. I got turned down by the CBS guy, who's a blogger for the website blogging about the bloggers. An affiliation with a real news agency doesn't make me quite legit.
More later… I see a camera crew and a helmut headed reporter. Maybe I'll get my close-up after all :p
To encourage competition and fractious infighting, the credentials committee at the DNC has come up with a byzantine system to manage the media horde. There are four levels of credentials – for the perimeter (i.e. you go through an hour of security checks to stand outside the pepsi center while the rest of your comrades in arms head inside.) The “arena” simply that. You get to stand by the concession stands where tabls are crammed with radio production units, claimin to broadcast from the convention center the heart of the action. Sorry buddies, the creds don’t get ou that far. Next levels: “hall” and “floor” these actually get you inside where people are speaking. Back in the day this was coveted, back when there were floor fights, and delegate counting and where a politically mad milieu let loose with abandon. Now you get to walk around and talk to the delegates, who are all on message.
I’m already over the Democratic love fest. Anyone who can squeal with delight over cheesiest ending to an “I want to prove to you how much I love America speech” doesn’t deserve my time or subpar interviewing skills.
But don’t worry. Journalists are great at masturbating. Instead of taking the temperature of the street we take the temperature of each other. Forget the cable news pontificators, and turn to the voice of the people. The bloggers, the netroots, who are assembled in a massive tent “Big tent” on Wynkoop street between 14th and 15th in the heart of downtown Denver. This is the first year that bloggers have been treated with RESPECT. They have credentials and a place to gather, where they work, and google, and interview each other on what it means to be a blogger. In the space of 15 minutes at the “Big Tent” where the bloggers and online journalists are gathered, I have seen six interviews of bloggers and assorted journalists asking each other what it’s like to cover the convention.
To make the exercise in narcissim legitimate though, Katie Couric walks in with a big mike and a ten man entourage to ask the very same question.
Yes, conventions are the voice of the (Democratic) people. And with 15,000 journalists at hand to bring you their stories, the level of navel gazing is at an all time high. But maybe I'm just bitter. I got turned down by the CBS guy, who's a blogger for the website blogging about the bloggers. An affiliation with a real news agency doesn't make me quite legit.
More later… I see a camera crew and a helmut headed reporter. Maybe I'll get my close-up after all :p
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