Welcome to Denver

I'm here. After pulling a near all-nighter (yes, my own fault since I was out with friends) and getting a ride to the airport before the crack of dawn, I sleepily stumbled onto my flight, passed out when I sat down and woke up after hitting the asphalt in the Mile High City.

As I manuevered my way to McDonald's for breakfast, I overhead someone saying, "I hear it's a pain to get taxis in this city." Great. The last thing I wanted to do was wait, but there didn't appear to be another feasible option. I scarfed down enough grease to kill my hangover and made my way to the line. At some point, the line stopped moving, and in my sleep-deprived state, it took me a few minutes to figure out why. I looked around and realized that there were no cabs. Not one. I would've thought that the city would be better prepared, but maybe they missed the memo that they're hosting a Convention here... Eventually, the taxis start showing up again, and I hopped into one with a talkative Ethiopian driver who told me that I'm beautiful, that he really hopes Obama will win and that I'm welcome to stay at his place if my accomodations fall through. I couldn't help but be amused. I did, however, get his card so he can take me back to the airport on Friday. Judging from the difficulty in getting a taxi in this city, it might not be a bad idea...

Unfortunately for my taxi driver, my accomodations are awesome. I'm staying with a friends' friend about 0.5 miles from downtown and couldn't have asked for anything better. A former hotel concierge, my gracious host had maps already printed out and labeled for me complete with walking routes and shuttle stops. Even the bed was turned down. I gratefully sank into the sheets and snoozed for four hours before finally reporting for work.

I went to pick up my credentials for the day and immediately realized this was a more efficient process than in 2004. Gone were the pagers and walkie-talkies of yesteryear. Here were the blackberries for each of us. My joy at the newfound efficiency wore off rather quickly though when I reached the Pepsi Center and realized there was only one entrance and about 3 mags (aka, metal detectors), which pales in sad comparison to the multiple entrances and slew of mags we had had in 2004 at the then-called Fleet Center in Boston. All I can say is that I hope they hurry up and get a few more mags by tomorrow or else we're going to have a hoard of angry, impatient delegates banging at the door.

But even with the potential annoyance, I can't contain my excitement to be here. The streets are buzzing with vibrant chatter about the delegates, the candidates and speculation about election strategies. Stepping onto Convention floor, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me. I paused for a moment and recreated the memories from the Fleet Center -- running the floor, squeezing through crowds, stopping for Secret Service and ducking past the press. I know fewer people here now, but I reconnected with some familiar faces and others recognized me or my name. It's a world I thought I'd left behind. But now that I'm here, it seems like I never left.

I spent the next two hours running up and down the stadium steps laying out items for the delegates while making friends with the security guards, who are as excited as everyone else to be here. I laughed as I saw a few of them run on stage and ask someone to take their picture. Everyone seems to be in a pretty good mood. Those who have been here for the last few weeks are clearly exhausted, but are finding the last bit of energy to see the fruits of their labor.

When I left the Pepsi Center, I thought I would call it an early night tonight. But then I went to a restaurant to see another friend I hadn't seen in years. As I left, my feet finally decided they had had enough abuse for one day. I looked for the shuttle bus, but it was nowhere in sight. And finding a taxi was once again proving to be a joke. So, instead, I took my first ride in one of Denver's "petty cabs." It's basically a guy on a bike with a two-person wide bench on the back (kind of like rikshaws in some Asian countries). My driver (biker?) is apparently a graphic designer by day, and a petty cab driver at night. But this week, he's just a petty cab driver. I guess the money's pretty good with an extra 10,000 people in town. He gave me his card and said to call if I need a lift again. Given the severe lack of taxis around here, I'm sure I will.