Evan's RNC Diary

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Sept. 2

3-5pm Up and down 7th ave and back again.

Trolling the streets for a pass to the RNC's final evening in the supersaturated afternoon heat reminds me of something. When I was a kid we'd run around my small suburb looking for vacant backyard pools. Hours of searching followed by a dip in the warm, dirty, petri dish covered with an unsavory layer of gooey, decomposing leaves. In other words: the treasure ain't worth the voyage.

Still, I give it a go for several hours. It proves an excellent opportunity to speak with volunteers, press, and guests, but curiously few delegates deign to respond. And who can blame them? "Excuse me, I'm looking for the California delegation so I can get a pass..." They spy my gingham shirt and, perform, no doubt some intricate Republican calculus, determine that I'm not kosher – except they probably don't think the word "kosher" – and write me off.

The best reaction by far didn't involve delegates at all. After spouting my spiel to a dressy couple with rolly suitcases, the woman turned back and screamed, "What, you thought we were one of them?! We would never go in there! How dare you!"

Am I supposed to tell Republicans by their horns? I thought so much of what was odious in the Republican lifestyle had to do with its discrimination based on external cues, characteristics, and qualities. Too often those who don't look right or present properly but are otherwise huge bastards are excluded from that mix.

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2 pm Union Square

Question:

Why don't black helicopters work as the official vehicle of The Conspiracy Theory anymore?

Answer:

Because they don't provide any space for advertising. But the Fuji blimp fills that role, because it's doubling as an NYPD surveillance vehicle. As I entered Union Square, I did noticed an older bearded man pointing at the sky. Or, no, he wasn't pointing, he was giving it the finger. I asked why he was giving the Fuji blimp the finger and he giggled. "Look real close and you can see the NYPD lettering on the side." He went on: "They can see your socks! Well, not yours, your jeans cover them but mine, they can see mine."

The revolution-smashing will be televised. And sponsored. It's becoming clear who the real beneficiary of the convention actually is: Poland Spring. On Sunday, bottles of Poland Spring water were distributed to marchers. Today, I watched as police distributed the very same little bottles of Poland Spring amongst themselves. If they're a publicly-traded corporation, you'll find me buying in.

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September 1

29th st. and 6th ave – 12 PM

The perfect metaphor unfolds.

The cops have been, for the most part, individually, extremely kind and human. When you look into their eyes you can tell they understand, if not the anger, then the fact that protest is natural, human. Several days ago I questioned some officers standing next to a group of Anarchists calling them alien fascist pigs. The cops didn't just spout rhetoric about free speech and tolerance, they spoke of it warmly – like they would about a relative or a puppy.

This same police force, however, has tackled young girls to the pavement, wrongfully arrested dozens of people, and harrassed numerous protesters and citizens whenever Republicans are near. I experienced this myself while simply interviewing people on the street. I've been threatened with arrest for taking photos. One undercover cop told me that I didn't have a right to stand on the street.

And while trying to figure out how to capture all this, I went and stood near some Republican volunteers. Most of them were kids, not fooled by me for a minute. Despite my shiny new spats, it was crystal clear that I was not of them. No matter, if Bush can say some of the things he says – on national TV no less – I figure these kids might be brazen enough to give me a juicy quote.