The RNC Media Circus

PHILADELPHIA (July 31) -- The convention, naturally enough, is not being held at the Pennsylvania Convention Center, which is downtown and would be readily available to protesters. The GOP is south of town, in Philly's shiny new hockey rink, the First Union Arena.

The Convention Center, instead, is home to PoliticalFest, a Spam-like simulacrum where visitors can witness symbols of the democratic process that have nothing to do with actual democracy itself. These are actually on display, my hand to God:

-- A scary-looking two-foot tall tiki mask of George Bush

-- A Bill Blass gown worn by Barbara Bush while dining with the President of Yemen

-- A jacket owned by Gerald Ford's mother

-- A menu from Harry Truman's inauguration

-- One of Herbert Hoover's fishing reels

If that's not enough, nearby is the Memorabilia Marketplace, a shopping mall selling oodles of replicas of similar crap, plus a bazillion official George W. Bush T-shirts, hats, lapel pins, and plush elephants.

Much of this will be available for free to the rich people back at the actual convention. People without credentials, of course have to pay.

Outside of the sports complex (Veterans Stadium, home to the Eagles, the Phillies, and the Army/Navy football game is nearby), the neighborhood quickly becomes one W. himself wouldn't dream of walking around alone. Thanks to an attempted rape, NBC has actually relocated all of the female employees out of the nearby Stadium Holiday Inn.

Thanks to the arena's location, a massive police presence, and other logistics, protesters are nowhere to be seen. Not one. All the protests today were closer to downtown.

About 750 people listened to Ralph Nader over near City Hall this morning. Perhaps twice that many showed up for the Unity 2000 rally. This was all in other parts of town, safely away from the prying eyes of the assembled media.

There are 15,000 reporters here, warehoused mostly in four giant inflated temporary pavilions the size of aircraft hangers and lined up adjacent to the arena itself. The pavilions are a self-contained world, complete with offices, restaurants, bathrooms, and even golf cart transportation. Many reporters will do all of their work within this bubble.

There's often nothing interesting going on. Nothing. So thousands of news stories are about to be written about the lack of anything to write about.

Here's how bad it is: I've personally already been interviewed by the AP and the Houston Chronicle, and they didn't even know who I was. Reporters are literally walking up to other reporters, starting conversations, and then taking notes.

I called a friend of mine who was at a protest where pairs of shoes, representing victims of gun violence, were put on display. Not one reporter got anywhere near him.

I ducked my head into the booth of a major weekly news magazine and asked if anyone knew how to get to the Unity 2000 march, exactly. No one did.

I can't help but think that the amount of energy that went into constructing this temporary city might better have gone into rebuilding the surrounding neighborhood of Philadelphia itself.

Reporters arrive at the convention via the GOP Express, a series of private shuttle buses and vans given special priority through traffic. The bus I rode in on was allowed to pass a police road block at the freeway exit, then went through a courteous search prior to admission to the convention grounds.

As the Secret Service agent eyed my bag as if it were a bomb, I noticed the GOP slogan in forty-foot letters on the side of the arena: Renewing America's Purpose, Together.

Nothing makes you feel more like Renewing America than feeling like you're in a Third World country.

In Pavilion 3, a group of reporters were staring at ABC's morning interview show in rapt attention. They were all watching George Stephanopolous ... with the volume down.

I have no idea what this means. I don't even want to think about it.

Tom Brokaw put in a brief appearance at the MSNBC booth, about 100 feet from ours. He listened vaguely to a producer and mostly stared into space.

A small crowd gathered to watch him do this.

Later, I passed the same TV, this time tuned to C-SPAN, just as John McCain told the Shadow Convention audience that George W. Bush is the true candidate of change.

Boos. Catcalls. More boos. McCain almost left.

Arianna Huffington came out and pleaded with people to stop. McCain finished his speech, skipped his planned Q&A session, and left the room immersed in hostility.

John McCain's credibility as a reformer is now officially zero.

The Courtesy Desk area is flanked by an endless reservoir of coffee urns, cold soda, and TastyKakes, a local brand of soft brownie or unfilled cupcake which is brown, sweet, and vaguely chocolatey.

These are free and all-you-can-eat, all day long.

When the soda and TastyKakes frequently run out, they are immediately replenished by as many as five people carrying boxes in something akin to a diabetic commando raid.

This one sight was worth the trip to Philly alone.

A book-length treatment summarizing Bush's positions has been mass-produced and is available in giant free stacks to any and all. The only other authors I have ever seen distributed this way are Lyndon LaRouche and L. Ron Hubbard, who may have actually written their books. (In fairness, I'm sure there will be similar crap when the Democrats meet in a couple of weeks.) When the books run out, people arrive with boxes and replenish the piles.

Infinite Bush, infinite TastyKakes.

Infinite fear for the future.