Welcome to the 2008 Hurricane Gustav Convention. This might be the first convention in meteorological history that was interrupted by a political event, but right now it looks as if the two will compete for the rest of the week. John McCain, who everyone had expected to appear Thursday night on the levees and fill sandbags, may actually show up at the Xcel in Minneapolis  - what? Oh, sorry, right – the Xcel in St. Paul, whatever, but if it’s important to you then we’ll say “St. Paul” when we remember. Can’t promise anything, though. We’re the MEDIA. Have you thought of just putting it all in one city? Anyway, it looks bad, and we’ll be standing by. Gustav is expected to make landfall in St. Paul on Tuesday evening -

BREAKING: we finally have some news at the convention, and the news is that there will be no convention tomorrow. Not much of one, anyway. Most events will be cancelled, McCain said. They will call the convention to order, adopt the rules, elect officers and adopt the platform – and then call it quits two and a half hours later. This means there will be hundreds of news-starved journalists roaming St. Paul in a blind red fury; deprived of even the meanest ration of gruelly news, there is now a level of non-newsiness here that eclipses anything we experienced in Denver. It’s like Un-news. Anti-news that destroys news on contact. This is like waiting three hours for the band to hit the stage then learning the concert is cancelled.

Forgot to link to DB’s version of the event. It’s here!

As noted on twitter, everything at the Pepsidrome is being dismantled and carted away. The widescreen TV and Wii are gone; there’s no Diet Pepsi in the media spa (plenty of free beer, though, if Coors qualifies; yesterday a can bobbing in the melted ice water leaked, and the water actually got lighter). Grim men are walking around spooling up wire. I fear this will be like the last dispatch from the wireless room of the Titanic, but I’ll stay at my post as long as I can. Just call me Sparks.

The twitter feed, incidentally, has minor comments made about this event in between laptop internet access; you will see, among other things, the sight of Al Sharpton ascending an escalator. You need not log in or join anything to read.)

 The interior of the Pepsidrome is returning to normal. The chairs are gone; the big risers on which 50+ cameras all captured the exact same thing are gone, and people are wandering around on stage without the necessary level of credentials. The very fact that they can wander unmolested is proof that the sharpshooters in the rafters have moved elsewhere, or decided to let us have our fun. A few days ago you could have been tackled for trying to get near the podium; last night you could have gotten shot if you rushed it. Today, with the action moved elsewhere, you can wander on up and have your picture taken from the podium. 

Who could resist?

This is being written while standing up, because a group of journalists and a Very Important Politician have taken over the Strib booth, and are sitting in all of our chairs. Only one of them seems abashed at the intrusion. 

Everything is coasting to the conclusion - the buzz around the Pepsidrome has completely evaporated, along with security. You could bring in an apple and no one would stop you. Journos and delegates are queuing for the bus to take them to the evening ceremony; apparently you have to there seven hours in advance. No one in line seems particularly happy. They seem hot and thirsty. A few hopeful souls are hanging around the perimeter asking for spare tickets, as if this is some Grateful Dead event. Happened on the way out last night: at least ten people asked if they could have our credentials so they could get in for the Clinton-Biden speech. What were they expecting? Oh, but of course - have my badge! Wander on in! I’ll go back to the hotel and draw one from memory and use that tomorrow.

I have no idea who this pol is, but there’s absolutely nothing he’s saying that the reporters couldn’t make up and attribute to Bruce McRockjaw or Howard Gudhare. After three days of this, there’s almost nothing new to be said.  

Okay, one of the journos stood up and a standing journo took his chair instead of offering it to me. Time for the Taser. We each got one in the welcome-bag of goodies; it’s good for one shot. Old convention hands knew enough to save them for the last day, when you’d really want to use them. The newbies shot them all off on the first day.

Later: inside the members-only CNN bar. 

I’m not saying this convention has a pre-scripted feel, but when the TV at the bar flashed NEWS ALERT followed by the words BARACK OBAMA NOMINATED FOR PRESIDENT there wasn’t the stunned hush you expected, and reporters did not dig out cell phones and start barking paragraphs to the copy desk. It may be that we’ve become inured to the NEWS FLASH; it may be that people actually saw that one coming.

I was on the floor when it happened, as noted yesterday, and while the management of the event was flawless – the deferred votes, the appearance of Sen. Clinton, the dramatic suspension of the rules all built up nicely to the final vote tally, and if the band was surprised by the quickened pace of the event they covered well, and launched into “Love Train.” As the lyrics suggested, people all over the hall did join hands and got on board the aforementioned train, and the hall was filled with joy and light and music. Except for this guy:

Shep! C’mon, go with the moment. Well, the official media is supposed to be straight-faced no matter what. I will say this: the last time I saw someone with that much makeup on he had green eyes and went by the name “Data.”

Speaking of which, Shep was given a Vulcan neck pinch shortly before going on the air:

He recovered by airtime, though. These guys are pros.

You will not find this sort of hand-holding at the RNC version, I think; as a friend of mine once said, he chose his church on the basis that it was the place he was least likely to be hugged. Don’t know what the RNC will do for music – anything from the latter quarter of the 20^th century would be modern by comparison, although they could hire Brian Setzer and have his orchestra knock out big-band tunes. M-C-C-A-I-N-0-8 I got a guyyyy named Johnny McCain / don’t wanna boast but the other guy’s toast / along with his running mate-ate-ate ate and so on. Then again, just because McCain is 72 doesn’t mean he listened to the Andrews Sisters, for heaven’s sake. He’s expressed a preference for ABBA.  This would make him more popular with the younger undecided demographic, but only if he enjoyed them semi-ironically, and wore a black T-shirt that had the ABBA logo split in half by the AC/DC lightning bolt. (Note to the McCain camp: are you listening? I’m not charging for any of this.)

Anyway, today is the last day. Stay tuned for more BREAKING NEWS. It’s expected that Barack Obama will accept the nomination tonight and give a speech relating to the campaign. You heard it here first. 

I was down on the floor near the New York delegation for the roll call – high drama when Illinois passed. Why? What are they up to? My sources – which consisted entirely of DB from the Miami Herald, who’d heard a rumor on TV – said that New York’s vote would be spectacular: Sen. Clinton would enter the arena, release her delegates by using the Delegate Bondage-Sundering Scepter (it’s an old tradition) and call for a unanimous vote. At the last minute, thought, New Mexico passed to New York for no reason anyone could possibly imagine, unless they thought people were getting restless.

They weren’t; the roll call is the best part of the third day, what with all the endless self-flattery: AS THE PROUD ASSISTANT WATER COMMISSIONER OF THE GREAT STATE OF NEW DAKOTA WHERE THE SUN PASSES OVERHEAD ONCE A DAY AND THE VALUE OF PI IS 3.14285714 AND SO ON, I AM PROUD TO CAST TWO VOTES FOR THE NEXT PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, etc. The fellow from Maine got somewhat lost in the middle of his remarks, and ended his praise of the state by actually saying “ . . . whatever.” Another touted his state’s “prodigious hills.”

In the end you want to hear what the last person will say – but we didn’t get the chance, since Sen. Clinton entered the hall and asked for the rules to be suspended. You have to feel sorry for the Xyogenia delegation.

Here’s the Minnesota reps, Sen. Klobuchar and Mayor Rybak, with concluding remarks by Rhoda Morgenstern:

Belay that previous griping about the lack of news; don’t know how I forgot to overlook the fact that Captain Morgan is in the house again. He’s a character from a popular brand of liquor, and he’s running for President! That never gets old. He’s just as tall and cheerful as he was the day before, when he was striding around the Pepsidrome telling people he would invite them to the Playboy Mansion. That went over like a lead copy of “Our Bodies, Our Selves.”

There’s something odd about a seven-foot-tall pirate shouting DRINK RESPONSIBLY! at the top of his lungs. The idea of drinking with an eye towards one’s social and personal obligations seems at odds with the pirate’s credo, unofficial as it might be. One becomes a pirate to cast off the rusty shackles of conformity. A true Captain Morgan would be stalking around the joint shouting PARTY UNTIL YOU RUN YOUR BEST FRIEND THROUGH WITH A CUTLASS OVER THE FAVORS OF A SERVING WENCH or something equally unwise.  

Photos later.  

Rode into town with a British MP named Francis Maude. It was my first experience talking to someone who was a Shadow Minister; much more substantial chap than the name suggests. His take on the situation: the European establishment is content with either Obama or McCain, since both have an internationlist outlook, and neither are inclined to go all nativist and isolationist at the last moment. I made several remarks that seemed overly concerned with using proper grammar. There’s something about an British accent– not chav blabber, but playing-fields-of-Eton accent – that puts you on your best behaviour, and before you know it you’re saying “aluminium” instead of “aluminum.”

Aside from that, not much to report; this is the hardest day for the media, because all the basics have been exhausted. There are no surprises left - in case anyone thought Hillary was going to lash herself to the podium and refuse to move until she got the nomination - and the fun, bright feature stories that characterized the start of the week have dried up and blown away.

Oh, we could go over to the Denver Center for the Performing Arts to hear some anti-poverty ideas from Madeleine Albright and Ben Affleck. (Seriously, Ben Affleck. The only reason I’d go would be to ask Ben to do that duck-voice from the insurance commercials.) (Hah: just looked at the roster: it also includes Dennis Maude. Well, I’ll have something to bring up if I meet Ben at a party. Did you speak with Dennis? Lovely chap.) There’s a “Rally to Fix Health Care Now” featuring music by Death Cab for Cutie, which seems an odd choice of bands. Or an entirely appropriate one, depending on your view of health care, I suppose. If we do not change the system now there will be death cabs not just for Cutie, but for all! 

Biz Markie is playing tonight at the “Season for Change” reception; Sean Penn and Val Kilmer will be at a Nader rally at 7 PM.If Clooney shows up, this will mean that half of the nation’s supply of recent Batmen will be present.

Off to find the reporter with whom I’ve been trading story ideas. Each of us thinks the other is researching ideas; each of us will be sorely disappointed.  

Close examination did not yield the exact russet hue one associates with the breed, so we’ll take their word for it: 

 . . . which would make it the present, I guess. I was talking with a photographer who’d covered a few conventions, and he noted how the March of Technology hadn’t changed the size of his gear. The camera was the same size; the lens were just as big - and now he had to bring 16 different battery chargers, plus a computer. His backpack looked like something sherpas would bear to the summit of Everest. “Hands free!” he grinned, bent over with the weight. Poor man. Everyone else has it easier. At my first convention the bureau chief had to go to the site well in advance and supervise the installation of all the computers - rows of 386s with ten-ton monitors. Now? Laptops. My entire studio fits in a backpack. Then there’s this, which we didn’t have a few years ago: YouTube’s Instant Video Endorsement Salon.  Step up, speak your own endorsement, and it’s on YouTube.  In olden times, people’s TV exposure at a convention was limited to the obligatory pan of the cheering throngs, or perhaps a moment with a local reporter. Now anyone can get on the planet’s most popular video distribution platform, for free. At this moment, one of the Ordinary Folk who made an endorsement has six fewer hits than Dennis Kucinich’s endorsement. Democracy in action! Powerful and meek together, battling for views and ratings!The most anachronistic thing here? The giant media tents. There’s simply too much media here. The Boston Globe sent so many people I think the reporter - reader ratio is close to 1:1, which makes for personal service but gets expensive, eventually.