Today the security check-in tent has expanded to Ringling dimensions. Same rules: remove everything metallic and electrical. You cannot even think of the concept of steel or even the lesser, more malleable metals, or you will set off the detectors; they’re calibrated to beep if you’ve listened to Iron Maiden in the last 24 hours. All electronic devices must be turned on - but of course by the time you get to your place before the Inquisitors, everything has shut itself off.  You hold up the line as you struggle with your STUPID CAMERA, which has a balky button; it will turn on only when pressed for a second, but if you press it too long it turns itself off immediately. Behind you, professional camerapersons fume: rube. I made it through without alarms - or so I thought.”Got another Apple,” said the screener. I actually wondered if they were talking about the make of computer, and were all Mac fans themselves, but no. The secondary screener team plowed through my bags and came up with . . . an apple.  ”Can’t bring these in,” said Officer Apple-taker. I asked why, instantly regretting it: Don’t cause a scene, idiot, just move along and accept the loss of an apple as one of those things that happens, unless you really want to wear the plastic bracelets and she said “it could be thrown.”Yes, it could be thrown; it could also be eaten. That was the plan, long ago.”I had to take a peach and a pear too,” she added. Somehow that made it better. A simple, soft, gentle peach was now considered a weapon? Arrr. No roughage, no peace! No roughage, no peace!Once inside I made my way to StarTribune HQ Central; passed Talk Radio Row, where dozens of talk show hosts in the country are seated, in hell. Talk radio is usually performed from a nice comfy booth where everyone takes pains not to make noise; here you’re talking in a hallway with people milling around laughing and talking. Blogger row is different, I imagine - and now I’m off to find it.   

Naughty sign at the strippery near the Pepsi center: 

 . . . or day six, or four, or ought, depending on how long you’ve been here. Officially, Day One. For most, the fun begins today, and the hangovers begin tomorrow.

Or so the National Journal’s special convention edition warns us all. A special editorial tells Denver n00bs  that it takes impossibly long to get intoxicated at this altitude. Apparently the body metabolizes alcohol more slowly up here, so people keep pounding ales wondering when they’ll kick in. Eventually, they do, of course, and then spins and moans of regret, followed by the blacksmith’s chorus in the morning. 

>We should come up with our own variant for the RNC – warn people that our northern latitudes make the body metabolize beer so quickly they will have to buy two instead of one. It’ll do wonders for the trade.

>I can vouch for the usual effects of coffee, though. Coffee works just fine.

Denver is an impressive city, and to tell the truth I’m somewhat nervous about how the Twin Cities will compare. Turns out Denver has a pedestrian mall as well. It was jammed. Picture the Nicollet Mall twice as long, packed, and full of actual stores and restaurants from start to finish. Since the RNC won’t be anywhere near the Mall, it’s going to look rather thin. And there’s nothing around Xcel in St. Paul that compares to the dining and drinking options near the Pepsi Center. Why did we bid on this? What were we thinking?

Yes, I know, calm down. We’ll do fine.

Sunday was interesting – between the roving protest down the Mall and the chance to wander around the Pepsi floor and watch Katie Couric pick stuff our of her teeth before going on. Note: if ever you want to be famous, consider being Katie, standing under the lights, working out a fragment of recalcitrant broccoli, with dozens of star-struck people holding up camera phones to take a picture. That’s fame. Or course, being paid millions is part of fame, too. We ran into Chris Matthews, who seemed taller than expected and just as rumpled as expected; people were taking cellphone pictures of him as he spoke on a cellphone. I took a cellphone pictures of the people who took the pictures of him.

Today? No idea; we’re just making this up as we go along. Maybe some man-in-the-street stuff, although we’ll probably do it on the sidewalk so he doesn’t get hit by a car. Or a pedicap: lots of rickshaws around here. Do we have rickshaws in the Twin Cities?<

No? Dang.

You can’t just waltz into the Pepsi Center, you know. After you get here - no small feat; I advise bringing a canteen of water and some pemmican - you have to stand in a very long line to get your credentials checked and your bags inspected. It’s just like airport security, with lots more guns. One of the guards had a baton long enough to knock out someone standing across the street.

I’m at the StarTribune’s spot in the press gallery, where we have power and internet and Epsom-salt foot baths and all manner of conveniences. The view: we will have an absolutely top-notch and upobstructed view of the left side of Obama’s head. This place is smaller than I expected, and it’s all Pepsi Blue, too. But it is cool and sedate, and after the protest - which was hot, smelly, and, shall we say, an up-tempo event, it’s a welcome relief. Grainy, blurry iPhone picture:

Read the rest of this entry »

Downtown, soaking up the unique Denver atmosphere at a place called “Star-bucks.” They serve coffee. The things you learn when you travel! Wandered down to the convention center, and was surprised to see it was remarkably empty – no protests, no police presence, no throngs of hot, tired reporters with a pound of credentials dangling around their necks. Perhaps this is because the convention is not at the Convention Center. It’s at the Pepsi Center. Just as well; the rest of Team Strib is locked up in the Pepsi Bastille, due to some sort of argy-bargy outside.

I remain without credentials, but hope to connect soon and get the magic badges. The lack of authoritative, hologram-stamped badges did not stop me from interviewing a nice Santa-Buddha fellow with a tiny dog and 473 Obama buttons. It makes things easier if you introduce yourself as a member of the parasitic media. I had to wait for another TV crew to finish, though. Poor man couldn’t drink his coffee; colorful people here are like dead horses in the middle of a field. Flies and buzzards gather in a second.

Read the rest of this entry »

About to head into downtown Denver to experience the close-up thrill of an empty convention center. Problem: our hotel is not exactly in the throbbing heart of Denver proper; on the cab ride from the airport, we saw the sign WELCOME TO WYOMING, but the driver assured us we would be able to catch a shuttle back to the city. They ran all the time.

Read the rest of this entry »