Dateline: Engelwood, Colorado–8/26/08, 9:34 AM Mountain Time
“Angry Democrats Distracted DNC Attendees in Denver” screamed the top headline on my laptop’s personal Dell Homepage, one of two distressing items greeting me on the web this morning.
I sympathized. Like myself and others covering the convention, Jake Tapper had discovered there was no news here and decided to make it up.
Angry Democrats? I’ve never been among a happier bunch of people in my entire life. Eating, drinking, schmoozing, gawking celebrities and taking part in the biggest pep rally of them all.
The only real anger I saw was about the shuttle buses which took us back and forth to the Pepsi Center for the main event. Going home, mine took an hour to get out of the vicinity of the parking lot and then proceeded to go at least that long doing a circuit around the Downtown one could do on foot in a about 15 minutes; too tired, even Gatey the schnorrer gave up, jumped out near the light rail and went back to his suite in the exurbs, blowing off Tom DiNapoli’s desert party, which probably would have been over by the time he got there anyway. Diane Savino was probably heartbroken, but them are the breaks.
If one were to find angry Dems at the convention, one would think they’d be in the New York delegation, but aside from those on my shuttle bus, everyone seemed in good sprits, burying old hatchets and having a grand old time. Gatemouth himself spent about an hour in a friendly and jocular chat with his old buddy, Chris Owens, with Brooklyn District Leaders Ola Alabi and Delia Schack very much enjoying Chris’ attempt to capture for posterity a cell phone shot of he and I embracing. I’m sending my copy to Michael Bouldin.
Yes, there were surely some in the New York delegation who wouldn’t be caught dead or alive voting for Barack Obama, but most of them probably wouldn’t have voted for Hillary either, and a few probably had never done so.
The only real dissent I saw was at a symposium held by the “National Jewish Democratic Council”, where Steve Geller, Florida’s feisty State Senate Minority Leader, bursted some Panglossian rationalizations about Obama’s weakness among old Jews in the swing state he calls home. But, Geller’s pointed remarks were made in the hopes of actually motivating some action to change those facts of life–Geller wasn’t angry because Obama had won; Geller was angry because he feared Obama might lose.
The other bad news greeting from the web this morning was the snide comment made about my last piece:
Submitted by Anonymous (not verified) on Tue, 08/26/2008 – 1:57am.
You and Hackshaw are bloggers, but where are the posts? You've at least posted one, but Hackshaw is oh-for nothing.
You promised only 1 post/day? C'mon, stop mooching free meals and give us posts.”
I do not recall ever making such a promise; not even to Ben and Gur who have given me a grand total of $460 towards my airline ticket. I might add that if I had given such a promise, I am surely fulfilling it, today missing a free meal as a result.
And, I am certainly not Rock's keeper; Hackshaw didn't even bother buying a lap top, and got his computer service yesterday only by first listening to a pitch from a communications lobbyist at the Colorado Convention Center (not to be confused with the Pepsi Center).
I did intend to try and post a few bits and pieces yesterday, but once I left the Sheraton, getting wifi access proved problematic, as did my futile attempts to find the Pepsi Center‘s so-called “blogger lounge”, which turned out to resemble the real estate boiler room in “Glengarry/Glen Ross”. By the time I found it, I was too tired to write anything without caffeine, and as Mamet reminds us, “coffee is for closers”
To add insult to injury, my preeminence among the NY delegation’s bloggers (at least those who’ve produced written evidence of their presence in Denver beyond the bad checks Rock is undoubtedly passing) was usurped by the lovely and talented Monica Youn, an at-large New York delegate pledged to support Barack Obama who works as a lawyer in the Democracy Program at the Brennan Center for Justice at the New York University School of Law and is also the author of “Barter“, a book of poems which, given the lady’s poise, probably contains nothing quite as offensive as Kevin Powell’s “Son to Mother.”
Ms. Youn is posting for an obscure outlet called “Slate”, apparently owned by a gentleman named William Gates, although I’m not certain she is making much more than $460 herself. Last night, she had an invite to Slate’s reception, but why be jealous when one can have desert with Tom DiNapoli (if one can get there).
Getting back to the title of this piece, it refers not only to the false reports of disunity at the convention, but also to the failure of Division Street’s candidate, Obama delegate Paul “Obamawitz” Newell, to finally get himself in the same room with his primary opponent, Grand Street’s Speaker Sheldon “I carry my own luggage and lots of other baggage” Silver. Although I missed DiNapoli’s deserts, and will probably end up forgoing this morning’s eggs, I’ve seen no sign so far at the Convention or the Sheraton of Obamawitz; perhaps he‘s taken my advice:
“the time [you] will spend attending the Democratic National Convention as an Obama delegate, so close to the primary, could better be spent knocking on doors in Knickerbocker Village. Paul, stay home and campaign,–let Shelly waste his time in Denver looking fruitlessly for a place that serves glatt kosher Hawaiian steaks.”
Luckily, if Shelly does manage to lose, he can take solace that there is place where he can retire with a political future. The Arizona delegation, conveniently located in our aisle, contained not one, but two former Silver aides who seem to run the state party, David Waid, the former Arizona State Party Chair, and Noah Krolloff, the Governor’s Deputy Chief of Staff.
Perhaps Paul Newell’s best hope is that Shelly gets a sudden yearning for dry heat.
Beyond that, the Convention is like being trapped in a political theme park's hall of mirrors, while suffering the twin plagues of thin air and sleep deprivation. It could be a thrill ride at Hershey Park (though compared to Hershey, there are, by a small margin, fewer vendors in Denver trying to part one with one’s money). I also enjoy being used as an extra in a long Obama infomercial. But everyday my travels, especially on light rail, juxtapose me with delightfully colorful Democrats from all over the country.
Yesterday, pride of place went to the teacher‘s union official from DC, who loudly boarded the late night light rail yelling “Make way for the drunken Irishman.” He regaled an eclectic group of riders with tales of the Kennedy, Roosevelt, Humphrey and Mondale clans, while a group from Arizona traded tales with me concerning Noah Kroloff and David Waid. A lady from Iowa showed me a button a Republican friend had given her of Congressman Jim Leach as a rhinoceros; as a result of his appearance at the Dem’s convention, Leach had been dubbed, with some justice, a “Republican In Name Only” (RINO). Meanwhile, an Arizona couple complained about their homeboy McCain’s false image as a maverick Republican, rather than the conservative he was.
Then, it came to me in a flash:
JOHN MCCAIN: RINO IN NAME ONLY
Dybbuk, my five year old, whose impression of what takes place at a convention derives entirely from a recent viewing of Laurel and Hardy's "Sons of the Dessert" (which means it is largely accurate), called me on the cell; “Daddy,” he asked, “Did you make any friends?”
In New York, the question would be laughable. Even at the Sheraton, I doggedly worked the room because it contained some people I had yet to piss off, and time was short; but, in the theme park called “Obamaland”, things were different.
“Can Daddy make any friends?”
Yes, he can.