GOP Convention 2000: Day 2

The day starts fairly slowly — we hang around the hotel for an unacceptably long period of time, watching the convention-specific all-about-Philly channel, which includes Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert giving an introduction to Philadelphia that must rank amongst the 10 most mind-numbingly bland pieces of information ever filmed. Memorable lines: none. This is followed immediately by a grotesquely fat Benjamin Franklin impersonator talking about how visitors to Philly should check out the Exelon information stand, to learn more about how Exelon is leading the way in the exciting world of privatized electricity.

But soon we're back on the bus with our GOP friends, heading back to First Union Center. The bus ride is slow (the Secret Service searches every bus meticulously, even looking beneath them with mirrors and flashlights), and relatively dull except for a delegate from some Southern state telling a story that begins like this:

"I'm 35 years old, and I rode a public bus for the first time in my life 3 weeks ago."

and ends like this:

"All for TWO DOLLARS instead of 45!"

Her audience murmurs appreciatively.

After checking in with the Monitor's commentator, Josh and I head out to downtown Philly, where we find ourselves walking a good 500-1000 feet behind the day's big protest. This is bad, in that we don't get the full experience of the thronging masses, but good in that we get to pick off the stragglers, talking to a number of different smelly and/or hairy people, some of whom are talking about how fusion reactors are the key to solving the world's problems.

We also pick up a fair amount of literature, including a press release from a pair of pig-costumed PETA protesters driving a red convertible. But the theme that binds the relatively small band of peaceful protesters seems to be disorganization. There only evidence we can discover of any kind of intelligence guiding this miserable, sweaty rabble (Philly's temperatures are over 90 degrees with high humidity) is a guy named James Ace. Jim, despite his Alliance for Democracy t-shirt and facial stubble, is as intense and focused as a corporate lawyer, and is interrupted 3 times by cell phone calls as I try to talk to him. Jim is the opposite of the masses he had some hand in directing — he's articulate, sharp, and very very busy. Too busy, in fact, to give us much of an idea why any of these people are trudging the long walk to First Union Center.

Through stupidity, and stupidity alone, Josh and I walk the whole route — about 5 miles in the sweltering heat. In a hurry, the suit/tie/undershirt/camera/cellphone stuff I have on seems less hip.

But we make it back without vomiting, wrapping up our trip with a Bataan Death Marchesque trudge across what seems to be an endless expanse of First Union parking lot asphalt.

Later, refreshed by showers, ice cream and shrimp wrapped in bacon (carpe per diem), Josh and I make it back to the media tent — and, through the grace of some unused passes, into the convention itself.

Stepping out onto the media gallery is a mind-blowing event. Television prepares you poorly — if at all — for the riotous spectacle of color and movement that is an active convention floor. With a single sweep of the eyes, it's possible to take in the podium, the delegations of the 50 states and the media, in all their glory. But with patience, the picture becomes more interesting still — Josh and I are able to pick out Chris Russert, Tommy Thompson, George and Barbara Bush, Tom Brokaw and Larry King. This takes us about 5 minutes.

Of course, the whole grand panorama is assembled for a spectacle that may or may not really be "news" in the first place. It's pre-recorded videotapes, Texas delegates in 10-gallon hats waving giant foam noodles and guys waving signs that read "M" (originally "W," I suspect) that make up the majority of what America will see and remember about the convention.

The speeches for the night largely feel hollow — the heavy hand of a script-writer seems to push down most of the "average" people who took the podium to tell their important American stories. As Elaine Chao, a small Asian-American woman, pours out the story of her struggle with becoming American and learning English, most of the delegates and media members talk amongst themselves, give interviews, eat cheese doodles, check e-mail and play with their cell phones.

The evening's most hilarious moment is the introduction of Laura Bush, an event preceded by a group of schoolkids sitting on in desks on the stage and pseudo-rapping their way through multiplication tables while their crew-cut teacher, a pioneer of the Knowledge is Power Program, yells encouraging things about how it's tough to learn, but we're going to do it together, as a team.

But however earnestly it's done, screechy schoolkids yelling out "9, 18, 27, 36, 45, 54, 63, 72, 81" will never be an impressive audio representation of the challenge of learning.

Then: the debacle, from a GOP perspective. George W. Bush's introduction of Colin Powell is from a remote location — a "classroom" full of kids who are seemingly falling asleep as Bush robotically lurches through his script. This is bad. What's worse, from a presentation point of view, is Powell — his speech is vivid, articulate, powerful and impressive. Powell looks about 10 times as presidential than Bush, and it isn't disguisable.

I would probably have richer reflections on this particular point, but post-Powell is Web prime time, and we do our audio interviews, post our full text, check out the forums, work the photo guys and try not to completely konk out.

Tomorrow should be interesting. It's John McCain, and he's sold out to Bush hard. But has he sold out completely?