Oh hey. What’s up?
Yeah, not much here either…just, you know, thinking about my day. It wasn’t that exciting, really. I hung out with some buddies. It was a casual gathering, really — only, like, 84,000 of my closest friends were there, according to the Denver Post.
Are you buying this nonchalant approach? Yeah, me neither, but I’m kind of stuck. See, I’m a cynic with nothing to whine about, and it’s getting hard not to sound like a saccharine cheerleader here in Denver. During Barack Obama’s acceptance speech, for one of the first times I can recall, the little snarky voice in the back of my head was (almost) silent. That, or it was deafened by something I’m really not used to — genuine, raw optimism. Patriotism. For a dejected soul of the post-9/11 era, that’s saying something. Something huge.
Tonight wasn’t an occasion for coolness, an aloof attitude or sassy asides. This moment meant too much to too many people for that.
This was the climactic moment (thus far) in a civil rights struggle predating America itself. Historical serendipity brought tens of thousands of people mile above sea level to witness a black candidate accept a major party’s nomination for the presidency for the first time exactly 45 years after the March on Washington.
It’s a point that’s been perhaps over-emphasized in the media, particularly on television, but it gets me every time.
Depending on who you ask, tonight marked a climax in a number of other struggles, too:
For some, a struggle to ignite an era of post-partisan politics (whatever that means);
For others, a struggle to beat the odds and put a Republican in the White House in spite of every historical trend suggesting it’s impossible;
For me, a struggle to remain objective in a situation capable of turning the most stoic journalist partisan.
I failed miserably in the face of the last struggle, but I’m okay with that. I’m just thrilled to have experienced a time in my life when I felt so impassioned that it would have been unethical as a journalist to do anything but ‘fess up about it. Besides, for me, and I imagine for countless others in the crowd tonight, this wasn’t so much about a political candidate as it was about regaining faith in a nation with which we’ve become jaded.
I can’t describe how inspiring it is to see about 84,000 people gathered in one place who actually give a damn about what happens next in America. I don’t care if you’re a Democrat, a Republican, a Libertarian, a Crystal Pepsian or an anarchist (even though a massive anachist assembly is kind of counterintuitive). It doesn’t matter who people vote for, I’m just excited to see them energized about candidates. Seeing roughly 1 out of every 3,600 people in the country gathered for a cause more important than the next American Idol is profoundly humbling and rousing all at once.
Tonight was…I don’t even know. Incredible. Absolutely incredible.
Obama’s speech, though pristinely delivered, was far from perfect. I’d like to have seen something more sweeping and thematic. This was a great speech, one that satisfied the biggest needs in the campaign — specific policy proposals, a dignified but pointed attack on McCain and a continued message of the campaign’s stronghold theme, hope — but this speech could have been one for the ages. It’s a classic case of high expectations tainting perception of what actually happened. I was expecting something epic, so when I got the best candidate speech I’ve witnessed in my lifetime, it wasn’t good enough.
But that probably won’t matter. Today, John McCain sliced into Barack’s media “bounce,” which might’ve proved a good thing. Because I have a ton of respect for McCain…but Sarah Palin? Really?
So, since this program’s finally drawn to a close, here’s a final analysis of the goals I originally set for myself.
1) Through my media/political fieldwork, gain a better sense of vocation: politics, journalism, or both.
The thought that maybe journalism wasn’t the best choice for me has long been lingering in my subconscious, I think…and occasionally, it’d surge forth into my conscious mind. These two weeks confirmed those latent suspicions. I sincerely believe I’m too passionate about politics to, in good conscience, pursue a career as a reporter.
This doesn’t rule out journalism as a career, of course. I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities out there at progressive publications. Maybe someday, I’ll snag a job as an opinion columnist. I could always report about politics or the arts —venues in which having a strong political opinion and the passion to voice that opinion won’t prove ethically problematic.
Furthermore, my internship with the New York Post was a pretty dismal experience; I didn’t feel like I gained much of anything from it. If anything, I regressed because I didn’t practice the craft for two solid weeks.
In contrast, I’ve grown enamored of the political process. Do I know exactly what I want to do? No, but I know I’m applying to graduate schools for political science.
2) Through our group discussions and guest lecturers, decide if I find politics fascinating enough to pursue a graduate degree.
Yes. See above. ‘Nuff said.
3) Schmooze, socialize and rub elbows to either a) gain me journalistic connections, or b) gain political connections for a post-graduate degree or career.
I got a business card from the front page editor of the Washington Post and managed to snag contact information from a guy who owned a small paper, has been in the business for years, went to Mizzou and dabbles in screenwriting. I think that’s a job well done.
4) Meet Kathleen Sebelius, Larry King, Wolf Blitzer, or any of this year’s crew of folks who vied for the Democratic nomination.
I didn’t meet any of these folks. Larry King wasn’t even here. But of all the goals I could’ve failed to meet, I think this one was just fine. Besides, I met John Oliver and Rob Riggle, and they’re infinitely cooler than most newscasters and politicians anyway.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Hillary, Hillary, Hillary! Tuesday night in the hall.
Like last night, the first few hours were — I hate to admit it — pretty boring. It looks like things seldom pick up at these conventions until the last hour or so. Also, for the love of God, before I forget: The music here sounds like it’s being played by that cheese-tastic band from Dancing with the Stars. Nothing gets me jazzed up quite like a glorified karaoke version of “I’m so Excited.”
That brings me to a point, though. With all the famous folks in Denver this week —Oprah Winfrey, Anne Hathaway, Susan Sarandon, to name a few, and let’s not even START on all the famous bands — why can’t we get some star power on the DNC stage? Something tells me the crowd would get a little more jazzed up if the DNCC replaced just a couple City Clerks of Bumble**** with someone we’ve heard of. (Not saying we should replace everyone. I love the everyman and everywoman voices, but I also like it when the convention hall doesn’t remind me of a morgue.)
Now, that’s off my chest. On to tonight’s events…
It’s implicitly sexist to mention what female politicians look like and wear, since their male counterparts seldom receive such scrutiny…but I don’t care. Kathleen Sebelius, Governor of my home state, Kansas, looked like a goddess in her red power suit. I don’t even know how old she is, but I’ve devised a theory, She’s either captured the elixer of life, or she’s a vampire: frozen in time, incapable of aging and always looking absolutely fabulous.
It’s too bad that when it comes to speaking, Sebelius is no Obama. Otherwise, with her post-partisan politics, poise and general judgment, she’d make a hell of a presidential candidate. Unfortunately, I’ve got to admit, John Stewart had it right when he commented on her response to Bush’s last State of the Union Address:
“Hmm. Flat and boring…what state is she from again?”
However, Sebelius had one moment of unadulterated brilliance, and it’s one of my sound bytes of the day:
“I’m sure you’ve heard that girl from Kansas say, ‘There’s no place like home.’ Well, In John McCain’s case, there’s no place like home, or a home, or a home, or a home…”
Oh, Kathleen. When I grow up, I want to be you.
Keynote speaker, Governor Mark Robert Warner of Virginia, was unremarkable. (Sebelius, part deux?) I’m starting to think the Democrats are trying to lose this thing. The speechwriter gets props for clever lines, though. Some collectible sound bytes included “In four months, we’ll have an administration that believes in science” and “If an idea works, it doesn’t matter if there’s a ‘D’ or an ‘R’ next to it,” but Warner earns about a “C” grade on delivery.
As for everyone who came after Warner, with the exception of a decent speech from Massachusettes Governor Deval Patrick and a fantastic speech (finally!) from Montana Governor Barry Schweitzer (who'll probably be remembered as tonight's real keynote speaker)….
Fhhhhhhhhhhrgvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv8599ph y8t99999999999999999999999.
Oh. I’m sorry. I just fell asleep on the keyboard.
Enough teasing. Schweitzer and Patrick: great. Everyone else: dull. Now, here’s my convention observer’s perspective on Hillary Clinton’s speech.
First of all: Standing. Room. Only. You could scarcely see a single scrap of blue carpet on the convention floor. Apparently, folks were “borrowing” credentials from friends who’d already been admitted it and taking them to friends outside.
Hillary’s tribute video was enough to induce chills down the spine and tears in the eyes of even the most die-hard Obama supporter. I should know. And when Chelsea welcomed her to the stage, she was greeted with the kind of applause worthy of a presidential candidate.
Within a few, brief sentences, she introduced herself as a proud supporter of Barack Obama, following with a message of unity as a “single party with a single purpose.”
“This is a fight for the future,” she continued. “And it’s a fight we must win together.”
I know there were nay-sayers — folks who’d feared Hillary would come out swinging, but I firmly believe that Hillary Clinton is and always has been a woman of class. This is a woman who honestly wants what she believes is best for her country. Of course, she believed she’d be the best president; if she didn’t, she damned well shouldn’t have run. But tonight, she made it clear that her goal has evolved alongside the circumstances. Her task, now, is to make sure this party can fuse back together after a splintering primary. And I think tonight was a tremendous step in the healing process.
If the delegates and convention-goers offer any indication, I predict Hillary’s speech will result in a huge bump in the polls for Obama — particularly among Hillary’s supporters. The mood in the convention hall was one of the most awe-inspiring vibes I’ve ever experienced. Tonight was a night for the Democratic Party’s history books. This was an electric night with an electric speech.
Hillary (aided, slightly, by Schweitzer and Patrick) almost single-handedly lifted this night of the convention from a dull, blasé, “D”-grade evening to an A+.
Nice work, Hil.
That brings me to a point, though. With all the famous folks in Denver this week —Oprah Winfrey, Anne Hathaway, Susan Sarandon, to name a few, and let’s not even START on all the famous bands — why can’t we get some star power on the DNC stage? Something tells me the crowd would get a little more jazzed up if the DNCC replaced just a couple City Clerks of Bumble**** with someone we’ve heard of. (Not saying we should replace everyone. I love the everyman and everywoman voices, but I also like it when the convention hall doesn’t remind me of a morgue.)
Now, that’s off my chest. On to tonight’s events…
It’s implicitly sexist to mention what female politicians look like and wear, since their male counterparts seldom receive such scrutiny…but I don’t care. Kathleen Sebelius, Governor of my home state, Kansas, looked like a goddess in her red power suit. I don’t even know how old she is, but I’ve devised a theory, She’s either captured the elixer of life, or she’s a vampire: frozen in time, incapable of aging and always looking absolutely fabulous.
It’s too bad that when it comes to speaking, Sebelius is no Obama. Otherwise, with her post-partisan politics, poise and general judgment, she’d make a hell of a presidential candidate. Unfortunately, I’ve got to admit, John Stewart had it right when he commented on her response to Bush’s last State of the Union Address:
“Hmm. Flat and boring…what state is she from again?”
However, Sebelius had one moment of unadulterated brilliance, and it’s one of my sound bytes of the day:
“I’m sure you’ve heard that girl from Kansas say, ‘There’s no place like home.’ Well, In John McCain’s case, there’s no place like home, or a home, or a home, or a home…”
Oh, Kathleen. When I grow up, I want to be you.
Keynote speaker, Governor Mark Robert Warner of Virginia, was unremarkable. (Sebelius, part deux?) I’m starting to think the Democrats are trying to lose this thing. The speechwriter gets props for clever lines, though. Some collectible sound bytes included “In four months, we’ll have an administration that believes in science” and “If an idea works, it doesn’t matter if there’s a ‘D’ or an ‘R’ next to it,” but Warner earns about a “C” grade on delivery.
As for everyone who came after Warner, with the exception of a decent speech from Massachusettes Governor Deval Patrick and a fantastic speech (finally!) from Montana Governor Barry Schweitzer (who'll probably be remembered as tonight's real keynote speaker)….
Fhhhhhhhhhhrgvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv8599ph y8t99999999999999999999999.
Oh. I’m sorry. I just fell asleep on the keyboard.
Enough teasing. Schweitzer and Patrick: great. Everyone else: dull. Now, here’s my convention observer’s perspective on Hillary Clinton’s speech.
First of all: Standing. Room. Only. You could scarcely see a single scrap of blue carpet on the convention floor. Apparently, folks were “borrowing” credentials from friends who’d already been admitted it and taking them to friends outside.
Hillary’s tribute video was enough to induce chills down the spine and tears in the eyes of even the most die-hard Obama supporter. I should know. And when Chelsea welcomed her to the stage, she was greeted with the kind of applause worthy of a presidential candidate.
Within a few, brief sentences, she introduced herself as a proud supporter of Barack Obama, following with a message of unity as a “single party with a single purpose.”
“This is a fight for the future,” she continued. “And it’s a fight we must win together.”
I know there were nay-sayers — folks who’d feared Hillary would come out swinging, but I firmly believe that Hillary Clinton is and always has been a woman of class. This is a woman who honestly wants what she believes is best for her country. Of course, she believed she’d be the best president; if she didn’t, she damned well shouldn’t have run. But tonight, she made it clear that her goal has evolved alongside the circumstances. Her task, now, is to make sure this party can fuse back together after a splintering primary. And I think tonight was a tremendous step in the healing process.
If the delegates and convention-goers offer any indication, I predict Hillary’s speech will result in a huge bump in the polls for Obama — particularly among Hillary’s supporters. The mood in the convention hall was one of the most awe-inspiring vibes I’ve ever experienced. Tonight was a night for the Democratic Party’s history books. This was an electric night with an electric speech.
Hillary (aided, slightly, by Schweitzer and Patrick) almost single-handedly lifted this night of the convention from a dull, blasé, “D”-grade evening to an A+.
Nice work, Hil.
Best day ever. Again.
Each day here proves a little better than the one before it, if that’s even possible. I’m starting to worry that I’ve reached the pinnacle of my life. Everything’s headed downhill from here.
My NY Post supervisor told the interns not to worry about coming in until our Washington Center speakers wrapped up, since mornings at the convention site are proving to be awfully slow. Fortunately for me, lots of Washington Center kids have been skipping out on the speakers. I know that probably seems like an odd thing to call fortunate, but the scant crowd helped me chip away at my goal of rubbing elbows with folks who could help me out with a career in politics or journalism. Here’s why…
Well, when our first speaker — a pollster — couldn’t come in today, his replacement turned out to be the front page editor of the Washington Post. Since there were so few people there, I had a chance to briefly pick his brain about internships. Long story short, I got his business card, and he told me to e-mail him for advice on how to maximize my chances of nabbing a Post internship (Washington, not New York ☺).
As if that wasn’t enough, the security line was abnormally quick today, and when I got in to the NY Post’s office, I was the first intern here, and I actually (gasp) got an assignment. (I know, right?) Gregg, the politics editor, told me to go out and talk to delegates for their opinions on the oh-so-adorable Obama daughters’ appearance last night. Turns out, I beat the other interns to the office by a grand total of five minutes. They ended up having to embark on yet another multi-hour excursion to get food for the staff while I gathered quotes, earning a “Rebecca Delaney contributed to this report” tagline.
Oh, and: I lucked my way into another hall pass for tonight’s convention speakers, including Hillary Clinton and Kathleen Sebelius (my home state’s governor!), so look for a post late tonight/early tomorrow evening!
Also, random, but: Did I mention they have free beer in the press tent?
I haven’t touched it…but this place is ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
Tuesday’s Speakers:
Today’s “youth vote” panel, featuring a representative from Rock the Vote, didn’t really offer much to write home about. So I won’t write home about it.
Besides, I don’t place much stock in for Rock the Vote. MTV’s fairly delusional about the age demographic to which it truly appeals. The vast majority of kids Rock the Vote manages to engage and empower are, as far as I know, barely old enough to get into PG-13 movies, let alone vote. Last night’s Rock the Vote concert featured Fall Out Boy, an alt-pop-rock band whose listening demographic comprises mostly tweens…making them a less-then-effective headlining act to help mobilize the 18-29 masses.
Rock the Vote’s cause is a noble one, sure, but I think they’d be more effective if the campaign acknowledged that its real success rests in its ability to prime kids who can’t vote yet, making them salivate in anticipation of the day they’ll be able to hit the polls. Right now, an awful lot of energy seems like it’s being poured into a message that could be better catered to the ears upon which that message actually falls.
That’s my rant.
Our other speaker (that I got to see) was Vince Bzdek, the Washington Post’s front page editor. Obviously you know I like him, since I bugged him enough to snag a business card, but I had good reason to be impressed.
Like T.R. Reed, Bzdek was refreshingly honest. I especially appreciated his response to my question: How will the advent of blogging, which is far more opinionated than traditional, daily newspaper journalism, impact the newspaper field?
Bzdek admitted he didn’t really know how blurry the distinction between opinion and news would grow, thanks to blogs, before the Washington Post and other outlets would find a way to keep the two safely separated. He mentioned that the Post’s newspaper office quite literally separated its news and opinion departments with a glass wall, offering a “separation of church and state”, of sorts. But, he added, that’s not the way the web department does it. We’ll have to come up with a solution, though…and soon. The Post — and countless of other papers nationwide — are quickly consolidating their offices as paper sales decline and web readership accelerates.
The hope, he said, is that once the blog novelty wears off, things will naturally shake out into a stratified structure of journalistic credibility with traditional, objective reports at the top and blogs hovering somewhere below.
Bzdek also complimented the DNC’s first evening, giving them high marks for unpredictability and praising Ted Kennedy’s surprise appearance. He echoed a common refrain from Washington Center lectures and readings: Conventions are boring, pre-determined and predictable. Speakers are lined up in advance with their speeches issued to press outlets before anyone even takes the stage. We all know the nominee, and no one gives a flapping hoot about the party’s platform. (Last night, when Nancy Pelosi called for delegates to respond with an “Aye” in favor of the 2008 Democratic platform, delegates lackadaisically and drunkenly hollered in response. I bet about two of them actually read what that platform included. I sure didn’t.)
Tonight was special, Bzdek said, because of the element of unpredictability and the historical flavor of both Kennedy’s speeches. I have to agree; I think the Kennedy family’s speeches will prove some of the most memorable moments of the entire convention.
My NY Post supervisor told the interns not to worry about coming in until our Washington Center speakers wrapped up, since mornings at the convention site are proving to be awfully slow. Fortunately for me, lots of Washington Center kids have been skipping out on the speakers. I know that probably seems like an odd thing to call fortunate, but the scant crowd helped me chip away at my goal of rubbing elbows with folks who could help me out with a career in politics or journalism. Here’s why…
Well, when our first speaker — a pollster — couldn’t come in today, his replacement turned out to be the front page editor of the Washington Post. Since there were so few people there, I had a chance to briefly pick his brain about internships. Long story short, I got his business card, and he told me to e-mail him for advice on how to maximize my chances of nabbing a Post internship (Washington, not New York ☺).
As if that wasn’t enough, the security line was abnormally quick today, and when I got in to the NY Post’s office, I was the first intern here, and I actually (gasp) got an assignment. (I know, right?) Gregg, the politics editor, told me to go out and talk to delegates for their opinions on the oh-so-adorable Obama daughters’ appearance last night. Turns out, I beat the other interns to the office by a grand total of five minutes. They ended up having to embark on yet another multi-hour excursion to get food for the staff while I gathered quotes, earning a “Rebecca Delaney contributed to this report” tagline.
Oh, and: I lucked my way into another hall pass for tonight’s convention speakers, including Hillary Clinton and Kathleen Sebelius (my home state’s governor!), so look for a post late tonight/early tomorrow evening!
Also, random, but: Did I mention they have free beer in the press tent?
I haven’t touched it…but this place is ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
Tuesday’s Speakers:
Today’s “youth vote” panel, featuring a representative from Rock the Vote, didn’t really offer much to write home about. So I won’t write home about it.
Besides, I don’t place much stock in for Rock the Vote. MTV’s fairly delusional about the age demographic to which it truly appeals. The vast majority of kids Rock the Vote manages to engage and empower are, as far as I know, barely old enough to get into PG-13 movies, let alone vote. Last night’s Rock the Vote concert featured Fall Out Boy, an alt-pop-rock band whose listening demographic comprises mostly tweens…making them a less-then-effective headlining act to help mobilize the 18-29 masses.
Rock the Vote’s cause is a noble one, sure, but I think they’d be more effective if the campaign acknowledged that its real success rests in its ability to prime kids who can’t vote yet, making them salivate in anticipation of the day they’ll be able to hit the polls. Right now, an awful lot of energy seems like it’s being poured into a message that could be better catered to the ears upon which that message actually falls.
That’s my rant.
Our other speaker (that I got to see) was Vince Bzdek, the Washington Post’s front page editor. Obviously you know I like him, since I bugged him enough to snag a business card, but I had good reason to be impressed.
Like T.R. Reed, Bzdek was refreshingly honest. I especially appreciated his response to my question: How will the advent of blogging, which is far more opinionated than traditional, daily newspaper journalism, impact the newspaper field?
Bzdek admitted he didn’t really know how blurry the distinction between opinion and news would grow, thanks to blogs, before the Washington Post and other outlets would find a way to keep the two safely separated. He mentioned that the Post’s newspaper office quite literally separated its news and opinion departments with a glass wall, offering a “separation of church and state”, of sorts. But, he added, that’s not the way the web department does it. We’ll have to come up with a solution, though…and soon. The Post — and countless of other papers nationwide — are quickly consolidating their offices as paper sales decline and web readership accelerates.
The hope, he said, is that once the blog novelty wears off, things will naturally shake out into a stratified structure of journalistic credibility with traditional, objective reports at the top and blogs hovering somewhere below.
Bzdek also complimented the DNC’s first evening, giving them high marks for unpredictability and praising Ted Kennedy’s surprise appearance. He echoed a common refrain from Washington Center lectures and readings: Conventions are boring, pre-determined and predictable. Speakers are lined up in advance with their speeches issued to press outlets before anyone even takes the stage. We all know the nominee, and no one gives a flapping hoot about the party’s platform. (Last night, when Nancy Pelosi called for delegates to respond with an “Aye” in favor of the 2008 Democratic platform, delegates lackadaisically and drunkenly hollered in response. I bet about two of them actually read what that platform included. I sure didn’t.)
Tonight was special, Bzdek said, because of the element of unpredictability and the historical flavor of both Kennedy’s speeches. I have to agree; I think the Kennedy family’s speeches will prove some of the most memorable moments of the entire convention.
Opening Night!
Thanks to our professor, Sandy Davidson, I got my paws on a hall pass for tonight’s speakers. I knew this would probably be my only chance to get inside the Pepsi Center, so I seized the opportunity.
I was seated up in the nosebleed section, somewhere between the rafters and Pluto — but when you’re at the Democratic National Convention, you’ll settle for a seat somewhere in the next galaxy if you have to.
The Obama campaign is definitely doing everything it can push an all-American hero image. Tonight, the task was clear: Introduce the world to Barack Obama as a simultaneous everyman and champion, epitomizing one of the many dichotomies we Americans expect of a president. Obama was presented as a selfless man who took a $10,000-a-year job as a community organizer on the south side of Chicago when he could’ve written his own ticket to any firm on Wall Street. At the same time, he was painted as a witty guy with a “funny name” who had to ask his wife out several times before she’d even agree to let him take her on a date.
Complimenting the “American dream” image were a compilation of speakers drawn mostly from Obama’s personal life and his past as a community organizer and Illinois politician.
As much as I love Obama, and as inspiring as I personally find his biography, I’m worried. Obama’s tale is a fascinating one, but the shallow depth to which his Chicago and Illinois speakers delved was painfully apparent.
Don’t get me wrong. As far as I’m concerned, character and principle are the far better indicators of a candidate’s potential success than experience, so long as the leader surrounds himself with a competent, seasoned staff (hello, Biden!) I mean, come on. Nixon was an incredibly seasoned president, and look where he wound up.
But I wouldn’t be surprised if McCain’s people have already jumped on a “Was that the best you could do?” spin campaign. If I weren’t so mentally and physically exhausted, I’d check the political blogs for whispers (or, heck, outright shouts) from the McCain folks already.
Anywayt, one of the brightee spots of the evening was Missouri’s prominent place in the convention spotlight. Not only did Obama watch the campaign from Kansas City (home of yours truly AND Obama-Bayh Bumpersticker-Gate ’08), Missouri Senator Claire McCaskill provided the main segue into Michelle’s headlining speech.
Sure, for those familiar with Obama’s stump speeches, McCaskill’s address sounded like an amalgamation of every campaign catch-phrase Obama’s used over the last 18 months or so, but that didn’t matter. Our girl was in the spotlight. Even the major networks, which over the last several decades have pared down their coverage from gavel-to-gavel to an hour or so each night, carried McCaskill’s speech.
I was especially pleased to see McCaskill’s kids introduce their mom. The story of McCaskilll’s daughter telling mom to speak up for Obama is next to legendary among Missouri’s political junkies, and given Obama’s youth appeal, I think it made great a great story for the national stage. Overall, I’d give McCaskill a “B” grade for her speech — much better than most of the speakers, but light years behind Ted Kennedy, Jesse Jackson, Jr., and Michelle Obama, all of whom delivered speeches that managed to resuscitate a depressingly comatose crowd.
And Michelle, Michelle, Michelle. If ever there were a lady who screams “FIRST LADY” (or hell, president), she’s the woman. You could tell she had to swallow about a half-second’s worth of nerves, but once she got going, she delivered one of the most genuine speeches I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing in person. Nothing she said felt the least bit contrived or calculated. Her tip of the hat to Hillary Clinton was especially genuine. I won’t even try to describe her address, because I know I can’t do her justice. Do yourself a favor, and look her speech up on YouTube. You can thank me later ☺.
The pinnacle moment of the evening, for me (other than Ted Kennedy’s “surprise” appearance), was the moment when we saw the whole Obama family onstage, with dad appearing via satellite. If Obama pulls this election off, I have a feeling this moment is the one political scientists may well look back on years from now as the turning when the country finally accepted Obama.
The whole scene made me feel like I was privy to a sneak peak of an Obama family phone call, when daddy’s away on the campaign trail. And when Obama accidentally said he was in St. Louis instead of Kansas City (something this KC-native noticed right away), his daughter’s “Where are you again, daddy?” (winner of my personal sound byte of the day) comment quite literally saved Barack from a major gaffe. Had the Obama ladies let the city-slipup slide, I could easily have seen the McCain campaign jumping all over the little mistake, using it as a way to balance out McCain’s “oops” moment when he couldn’t recall how many houses he had.
Instead, the Obama women kept dad straight. We got a glimpse of a truly presidential family, where even the littlest ones have a stake — even if it’s just reminding a campaign-weathered daddy which city he’s in.
I was seated up in the nosebleed section, somewhere between the rafters and Pluto — but when you’re at the Democratic National Convention, you’ll settle for a seat somewhere in the next galaxy if you have to.
The Obama campaign is definitely doing everything it can push an all-American hero image. Tonight, the task was clear: Introduce the world to Barack Obama as a simultaneous everyman and champion, epitomizing one of the many dichotomies we Americans expect of a president. Obama was presented as a selfless man who took a $10,000-a-year job as a community organizer on the south side of Chicago when he could’ve written his own ticket to any firm on Wall Street. At the same time, he was painted as a witty guy with a “funny name” who had to ask his wife out several times before she’d even agree to let him take her on a date.
Complimenting the “American dream” image were a compilation of speakers drawn mostly from Obama’s personal life and his past as a community organizer and Illinois politician.
As much as I love Obama, and as inspiring as I personally find his biography, I’m worried. Obama’s tale is a fascinating one, but the shallow depth to which his Chicago and Illinois speakers delved was painfully apparent.
Don’t get me wrong. As far as I’m concerned, character and principle are the far better indicators of a candidate’s potential success than experience, so long as the leader surrounds himself with a competent, seasoned staff (hello, Biden!) I mean, come on. Nixon was an incredibly seasoned president, and look where he wound up.
But I wouldn’t be surprised if McCain’s people have already jumped on a “Was that the best you could do?” spin campaign. If I weren’t so mentally and physically exhausted, I’d check the political blogs for whispers (or, heck, outright shouts) from the McCain folks already.
Anywayt, one of the brightee spots of the evening was Missouri’s prominent place in the convention spotlight. Not only did Obama watch the campaign from Kansas City (home of yours truly AND Obama-Bayh Bumpersticker-Gate ’08), Missouri Senator Claire McCaskill provided the main segue into Michelle’s headlining speech.
Sure, for those familiar with Obama’s stump speeches, McCaskill’s address sounded like an amalgamation of every campaign catch-phrase Obama’s used over the last 18 months or so, but that didn’t matter. Our girl was in the spotlight. Even the major networks, which over the last several decades have pared down their coverage from gavel-to-gavel to an hour or so each night, carried McCaskill’s speech.
I was especially pleased to see McCaskill’s kids introduce their mom. The story of McCaskilll’s daughter telling mom to speak up for Obama is next to legendary among Missouri’s political junkies, and given Obama’s youth appeal, I think it made great a great story for the national stage. Overall, I’d give McCaskill a “B” grade for her speech — much better than most of the speakers, but light years behind Ted Kennedy, Jesse Jackson, Jr., and Michelle Obama, all of whom delivered speeches that managed to resuscitate a depressingly comatose crowd.
And Michelle, Michelle, Michelle. If ever there were a lady who screams “FIRST LADY” (or hell, president), she’s the woman. You could tell she had to swallow about a half-second’s worth of nerves, but once she got going, she delivered one of the most genuine speeches I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing in person. Nothing she said felt the least bit contrived or calculated. Her tip of the hat to Hillary Clinton was especially genuine. I won’t even try to describe her address, because I know I can’t do her justice. Do yourself a favor, and look her speech up on YouTube. You can thank me later ☺.
The pinnacle moment of the evening, for me (other than Ted Kennedy’s “surprise” appearance), was the moment when we saw the whole Obama family onstage, with dad appearing via satellite. If Obama pulls this election off, I have a feeling this moment is the one political scientists may well look back on years from now as the turning when the country finally accepted Obama.
The whole scene made me feel like I was privy to a sneak peak of an Obama family phone call, when daddy’s away on the campaign trail. And when Obama accidentally said he was in St. Louis instead of Kansas City (something this KC-native noticed right away), his daughter’s “Where are you again, daddy?” (winner of my personal sound byte of the day) comment quite literally saved Barack from a major gaffe. Had the Obama ladies let the city-slipup slide, I could easily have seen the McCain campaign jumping all over the little mistake, using it as a way to balance out McCain’s “oops” moment when he couldn’t recall how many houses he had.
Instead, the Obama women kept dad straight. We got a glimpse of a truly presidential family, where even the littlest ones have a stake — even if it’s just reminding a campaign-weathered daddy which city he’s in.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Let the games begin
The convention’s underway!
Already spotted today: Arianna Huffington, who looked at Kevin and I like we’d just shot her puppy when we smiled at her, and Rev. Al Sharpton, who wins an award for most gracious man ever. The man was on his cell phone and still posed for photos with star-struck reporters who spotted him while waiting in line at the first press checkpoint.
Notice I mentioned “first” press checkpoint. There are two, now; an initial checkpoint’s been erected — perhaps to keep the protestors from backing security up for hours on end again. But let’s be honest, here: so long as the protestors remain non-violent, I’d rather see them up close to the action.
Protest is the lifeblood of the Democratic party. The Democrats are — or at one point, were — the party of passion, dissent, and progress. As obnoxious as these protestors have proven on a personal level, I want to see them up close and personal. I want to know that the Democrats are receptive to discord. In a two-party system like ours, at least one party had better voice up, or at least listen to, the discontented. Otherwise, to me, “democracy” describes America about as well as “Fair and Balanced” describes Fox News.
Enough of my idealistic ramblings. I just found out I’ve got a hall pass for tonight’s speakers. Nancy Pelosi, Michelle Obama and Claire McCaskill, here I come! Obviously, I’ll have more on tonight’s events later.
Already spotted today: Arianna Huffington, who looked at Kevin and I like we’d just shot her puppy when we smiled at her, and Rev. Al Sharpton, who wins an award for most gracious man ever. The man was on his cell phone and still posed for photos with star-struck reporters who spotted him while waiting in line at the first press checkpoint.
Notice I mentioned “first” press checkpoint. There are two, now; an initial checkpoint’s been erected — perhaps to keep the protestors from backing security up for hours on end again. But let’s be honest, here: so long as the protestors remain non-violent, I’d rather see them up close to the action.
Protest is the lifeblood of the Democratic party. The Democrats are — or at one point, were — the party of passion, dissent, and progress. As obnoxious as these protestors have proven on a personal level, I want to see them up close and personal. I want to know that the Democrats are receptive to discord. In a two-party system like ours, at least one party had better voice up, or at least listen to, the discontented. Otherwise, to me, “democracy” describes America about as well as “Fair and Balanced” describes Fox News.
Enough of my idealistic ramblings. I just found out I’ve got a hall pass for tonight’s speakers. Nancy Pelosi, Michelle Obama and Claire McCaskill, here I come! Obviously, I’ll have more on tonight’s events later.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Don't lower your expectations after all
As it turns out, the New York Post doesn’t have a problem with us talking about our fieldwork. The main rules are pretty standard: Don’t talk about stories and private conversations, and don’t get too personal. Seems simple enough.
The other interns — Kevin and Jaclyn — and I got up at the crack of dawn, ate as much breakfast as we could get in our mouths between yawns, and headed to the Pepsi Center via cab around 9 a.m.
It took all of 2 minutes to get through security, since things were pretty dead. Keep in mind, the media party was last night, and a good chunk of the press crowd was still, you know, recovering, I’d imagine. Once we got to our pavilion, we sat down and waited for our supervisor, Annie, who we’d agreed to meet between 9 and 10.
[Insert six-hour, vacuous gap here.]
It was nearly 4 p.m. by the time Annie made it through security, where the wait in line had exploded from our 2 minutes to somewhere more in the 2-hour ballpark. We found out later that, while we were sitting around getting cabin fever in our press lot, a crew of nonviolent but über-disruptive protestors (Recreate ’68?) had gathered outside the security entrance, shutting down traffic and seriously delaying folks who were trying to get inside.
Though the nonviolent protest confirmed the hunch I gleaned yesterday — that these so-called anarchists are here to make political statements rather than headlines for inciting police brutality — those guys single-handedly made three New York Post interns start to question their collective sanity.
We waited, and waited, and waited, and when we were done waiting, we waited some more. Annie’s an extremely busy woman, so we stayed put, well aware that she needed us at the press lot to take care of phone connections, internet hookups and to greet assorted visitors who’d occasionally drop by looking to exchange pins. (Here, state/news outlet/miscellaneous pins are a little like currency — you can trade ‘em for anything from another pin to private party access.)
We sat on the blue suede couches in our press lot’s makeshift lounge, bonding while we wondered aloud how much longer we’d be sitting around getting fieldwork credit for doing nothing.
By 11 or so, we started getting slap-happy. I devised a theory: Rupert Murdoch got bored this morning and decided it’d be fun to watch three interns slowly go insane, so he stuck us in an all-but-empty, isolated press lot all by ourselves with no idea how to answer simple questions like “Where’s Annie?” and “How many speech texts do you need?”
I envisioned Murdoch watching live feed from a secret camera in the press lot, drumming his fingers together slowly and laughing maniacally.
We started playing tic-tac-toe in the suede, rubbing lines and X’s and O’s into the fabric. I wandered around the press lot, strategically contorting my body while holding my laptop in an effort to somehow get hold of a wireless Internet connection. We ate candy, attempted to nap, and, when we were feeling really naughty, got up to get a drink from the vending machine or use the bathroom. But nothing, nothing, could cure the boredom.
It didn’t matter. The three of us were so happy to be at the heart of the convention, surrounded by reporters we’ve idolized since we were old enough to understand the whole “media” thing, no amount of boredom, however prolonged and paralyzing, could really get us down.
Once Annie arrived, things rocketed uphill fast. Apart from a 1/3-mile stint schlepping relatively light boxes from a major intersection, through security to the press lot, the rest of the day was wonderful.
We met the Post’s political editor and a cluster of reporters. Later, when I was walking with Kevin to deliver a press pass to one of the staffers, I walked right past an incredibly familiar looking man with thinning strawberry-blonde hair and dignified, handsome face. I couldn’t for the life of me remember who he was, but I knew he looked familiar, so I flashed a painfully awkward smile. Looking rather thrilled to be recognized, he returned the favor.
“That’s Paul Begala!” Kevin whispered.
“Who?”
About 30 minutes later, when I saw the same man on television I realized who Paul Begala was: a CNN pundit and former Bill Clinton advisor with a sassy sense of humor. Actually, he’s one of my favorite CNN pundits…but apparently, I can’t recognize the man out of context. Nice one, Rebecca.
After cheerfully going about a few more hours of less-than-glamorous intern work, Annie offered to treat Kevin, Jaclyn and I to dinner. Won’t say too much about what happened there because frankly, the dinner conversation was too hilarious to really capture in writing. But the main highlight? Annie said we’re some of the best interns she’s had, and she’s working on getting the three of us some kind of article(s) to work on.
I guess the The Washington Center’s mantra, “Lower your expectations,” is working out. I’d set mine so low, I didn’t realize that lugging office supplies around with a smile on my face (because, hell, I’m happy to be there!) could get me a byline in the oldest continuously printed paper in the nation.
It was a good day.
And I got a hundred bucks ☺.
The other interns — Kevin and Jaclyn — and I got up at the crack of dawn, ate as much breakfast as we could get in our mouths between yawns, and headed to the Pepsi Center via cab around 9 a.m.
It took all of 2 minutes to get through security, since things were pretty dead. Keep in mind, the media party was last night, and a good chunk of the press crowd was still, you know, recovering, I’d imagine. Once we got to our pavilion, we sat down and waited for our supervisor, Annie, who we’d agreed to meet between 9 and 10.
[Insert six-hour, vacuous gap here.]
It was nearly 4 p.m. by the time Annie made it through security, where the wait in line had exploded from our 2 minutes to somewhere more in the 2-hour ballpark. We found out later that, while we were sitting around getting cabin fever in our press lot, a crew of nonviolent but über-disruptive protestors (Recreate ’68?) had gathered outside the security entrance, shutting down traffic and seriously delaying folks who were trying to get inside.
Though the nonviolent protest confirmed the hunch I gleaned yesterday — that these so-called anarchists are here to make political statements rather than headlines for inciting police brutality — those guys single-handedly made three New York Post interns start to question their collective sanity.
We waited, and waited, and waited, and when we were done waiting, we waited some more. Annie’s an extremely busy woman, so we stayed put, well aware that she needed us at the press lot to take care of phone connections, internet hookups and to greet assorted visitors who’d occasionally drop by looking to exchange pins. (Here, state/news outlet/miscellaneous pins are a little like currency — you can trade ‘em for anything from another pin to private party access.)
We sat on the blue suede couches in our press lot’s makeshift lounge, bonding while we wondered aloud how much longer we’d be sitting around getting fieldwork credit for doing nothing.
By 11 or so, we started getting slap-happy. I devised a theory: Rupert Murdoch got bored this morning and decided it’d be fun to watch three interns slowly go insane, so he stuck us in an all-but-empty, isolated press lot all by ourselves with no idea how to answer simple questions like “Where’s Annie?” and “How many speech texts do you need?”
I envisioned Murdoch watching live feed from a secret camera in the press lot, drumming his fingers together slowly and laughing maniacally.
We started playing tic-tac-toe in the suede, rubbing lines and X’s and O’s into the fabric. I wandered around the press lot, strategically contorting my body while holding my laptop in an effort to somehow get hold of a wireless Internet connection. We ate candy, attempted to nap, and, when we were feeling really naughty, got up to get a drink from the vending machine or use the bathroom. But nothing, nothing, could cure the boredom.
It didn’t matter. The three of us were so happy to be at the heart of the convention, surrounded by reporters we’ve idolized since we were old enough to understand the whole “media” thing, no amount of boredom, however prolonged and paralyzing, could really get us down.
Once Annie arrived, things rocketed uphill fast. Apart from a 1/3-mile stint schlepping relatively light boxes from a major intersection, through security to the press lot, the rest of the day was wonderful.
We met the Post’s political editor and a cluster of reporters. Later, when I was walking with Kevin to deliver a press pass to one of the staffers, I walked right past an incredibly familiar looking man with thinning strawberry-blonde hair and dignified, handsome face. I couldn’t for the life of me remember who he was, but I knew he looked familiar, so I flashed a painfully awkward smile. Looking rather thrilled to be recognized, he returned the favor.
“That’s Paul Begala!” Kevin whispered.
“Who?”
About 30 minutes later, when I saw the same man on television I realized who Paul Begala was: a CNN pundit and former Bill Clinton advisor with a sassy sense of humor. Actually, he’s one of my favorite CNN pundits…but apparently, I can’t recognize the man out of context. Nice one, Rebecca.
After cheerfully going about a few more hours of less-than-glamorous intern work, Annie offered to treat Kevin, Jaclyn and I to dinner. Won’t say too much about what happened there because frankly, the dinner conversation was too hilarious to really capture in writing. But the main highlight? Annie said we’re some of the best interns she’s had, and she’s working on getting the three of us some kind of article(s) to work on.
I guess the The Washington Center’s mantra, “Lower your expectations,” is working out. I’d set mine so low, I didn’t realize that lugging office supplies around with a smile on my face (because, hell, I’m happy to be there!) could get me a byline in the oldest continuously printed paper in the nation.
It was a good day.
And I got a hundred bucks ☺.
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