Catharsis, Daily Show and "Surprise"

This is going to be so cliché, I’m wincing as I type, but there’s no other way to put it:

I just had a ringside seat to history.

It almost didn’t happen. I was sitting in my usual spot on the couch in the New York Post’s press lounge when Annie, our supervisor, approached Kevin and me.

“I think Gregg has an assignment for one of you,” she said. Turned out, Gregg, the politics editor, needed someone to gather quotes from Hillary supporters, since she would (rumor had it) call for a vote by acclamation for Barack Obama.

I almost gave up the opportunity. I’d already had the chance to watch two nights of the convention from inside the Pepsi Center, and I thought I’d give Kevin the chance to do a few interviews. But something in my gut told me I was making a mistake — after all, Kevin already had a byline. So, propelled by some kind of freakish, almost mystical force, I took the floor press pass, which Kevin graciously relinquished, and I made my way to the convention floor.

I settled into a spot in front of the New York delegation, figuring that’s where I’d want to be when Clinton made her big move. Don’t ask how I managed to squeeze in there. The states announced their votes, and around the time Kansas, my home state, hit security officers started pushing people away from the area where I was standing.

“You can stay,” they said, when I started to move. “Just don’t get in the way.”

I knew something was about to happen; I could feel it simmering inside.

The area started to flood with familiar faces — campaign coordinators…folks I’d seen in the backdrops of photos from newspaper and magazine articles featuring Hillary. Oh my God. She’s going to come right here.

New Hampshire. New Jersey. New Mexico…

Bodyguards lined up in front of me. I was pressed up against a man’s shoulder, and guy from the BBC smacked me in the head with a camera. (Accidentally, I hope.) And suddenly, I saw a sea foam green pantsuit flanked by blurs of grey. It was Hillary.

The flash bulbs from a thousand cameras burned the moment into my brain — and my retinas.

I was there when history happened. I was there, not more than six or seven yards away, when one of the greatest moments in this nation’s political history took place. I was there when Hillary Clinton, the nation’s first real female contender a major party’s nomination, officially threw her support behind and sealed the deal for the nation’s first black presidential candidate. And I was feet — FEET — away.

As the moment concluded, amidst a cacophonic explosion of applause and impassioned shouts, I heard someone from Clinton’s campaign say, “It’s done. It’s finally done,” as she hugged Clinton — no more than twelve inches away from my awestricken face.

I know I’m a reporter. I know I’m supposed to be unbiased, but when you stumble into the midst of a moment like this by sheer, dumb luck, I think you get a pass on being impartial.

I’ve never been so proud of this country in my life. I’ve never felt so humbled, so speechless, and so spoiled.

A major party has finally offered America a candidate to the presidency who represent the tens of millions of Americans who aren’t white men. It’s about time. Those who know me well will vouch: I’m not a sentimental type, but as I sat there, near the floor of the Pepsi Center, basking in the afterglow of one of the greatest moments I think this nation has ever seen, my eyes were welling with tears.

I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve to luck into this opportunity.

This whole experience, from start to finish, has been categorically life-altering. I will never be the same again.

After I came back to the Post, the politics editor told me I could hold on to my floor pass, so I could watch “Bubba.” (“Bubba” is proper NY Post headline style, I believe, for Bill Clinton.) Long story short, I saw night three almost entirely from the real, honest-to-God convention floor.

Tonight proved the strongest by leaps and bounds of the three convention nights. Bill Clinton delivered a speech lambasting the Republicans and touting specific, personal qualities that would make Obama a strong president. His speech may not have been one for the history books, but it certainly served as a strong appeal to party unity.

John Kerry’s speech, which compared the contradictory views of “candidate” McCain versus Senator McCain, couldn’t have been better suited for the fallen Democratic nominee. Having seen his campaign derailed in part because of accusations of “flip-flopping,” I couldn’t have picked a better candidate to highlight some of McCain’s shifts in policy. I’ve neve thought of Kerry as a funny guy, but his willingness to act as an ironic attack dog earned tremendous points in my book.

As for Joe Biden and Barack Obama? Well, I think I’m going to devote tomorrow’s entire blog to them…so sit tightl, folks.



Annnd the fun stuff:


Post Hillary Catharsis-fest ’08 last night, I was outside the Pepsi Center with Spencer. We’d both had a full day and were ready to head home. Suddenly, we heard a British voice pierce through the air — the same voice I heard earlier in the evening when I accidentally wandered into some Daily Show taping.

JOHN OLIVER.

There he was, standing right in front of us, taping a segment: the greatest import from Liverpool since the Beatles. Naturally, I lost all power of speech. He hugged me, and I got a photo with him…which, given the illustrious assortment of politicians here, shouldn’t be the highlight of my trip. But it was. At least, until today.

I figured the odds of meeting another famous person were pretty slim.

I was blissfully wrong.

This afternoon, Kevin and I were on assignment to go around the press pavilions dropping off extra copies of the Weekly Standard (one of the most conservative magazines in the country).

Of course, the natural first step was to take the magazines to the Daily Show’s trailer. When we got close, I realized Rob Riggle was standing right in front of me. I’m so exhausted, I don’t think my body has energy to freek out like a giddy schoolgirl anymore, so instead of getting flustered like I normally would’ve, I exclaimed “You went to KU, didn’t you?”

Next thing I know, I’m handing Rob Riggle a copy of the Weekly Standard and shooting the breeze for about five minutes.

Go figure.