As I settled into NR’s reserved seat at the very top of the United Center Arena, one specific thought flashed through my head: ‘I’ve made a huge mistake.’
Nothing has better cured my weakness for writing overlong than being assigned coverage of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. I’ve aged a decade in a day, and three yet remain that I must survive. Understand that what I had to endure so far was not rioting or violence, for which I am genuinely grateful. (If early returns are any indication, the DNC will be a snooze in terms of civic disruption, but let’s wait until it’s over before I write a piece goofing on my own earlier fears.) No, what turned me into a dour, jaded media veteran overnight was the sheer, maddening boredom of it all. Those who do this for a living and retain some sense of joy — or even sanity — in their lives? Here’s lookin’ at you, Jim and Audrey: I realize now that you’re the real MVPs.
As I finally settled into a seat at the top of the United Center Arena somewhere around 6:30 p.m., I recall one specific thought flashing through my head: “I’ve made a huge mistake.” What am I even doing here? Listening not only to boring political speeches, but ones given by all the people I dislike most in American politics? What kind of terrible choices does a man make in life to bring himself to this pass? Matters weren’t helped by the fact that (1) the WiFi did not work; (2) there was one seat to share between three of us; (3) the Democratic Party gave National Review literally — without exaggeration — the worst seat in the entire house. Top of the arena, final row, center seat. And you have no idea how proud that detail makes me, honestly. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Other than that touch of local color, though, what else really is there to say about Monday? It should tell you something about how the first night of the convention went that the raging debate online today is whether last night’s proceedings ran so interminably overlong by accident or — as Nate Silver is arguing — on purpose, to get the old man out of the way of viewers in case he self-destructed on live TV once again. (Joe Biden did not take the stage until well after prime time, and then spoke for an ungodly 45 minutes, giving whoever remained awake the mini-Trump experience: half the length, but with a delivery style equally as painful in its own unique way.)
I am skeptical. Convention security was remarkably tight last night — the lines to get through checkpoints were interminable, but I have zero complaints about police presence on site — but almost all the volunteers I spoke to working the arena were utterly clueless. I think the Democrats instead suffer from too much “victory bloat” — having won three out of the last four elections, they have a number of “obligatory” speakers who take up required slots. It was the surplus that felt maddening. Karen Bass? Nobody needs to hear from Karen Bass, not even herself.
I was tempted to go through last night’s list of speakers today like an angry Hollywood producer stripping one scene after another from a bloated 200-minute-long first cut of a troubled blockbuster. “Andy Beshear? Who the hell is Andy Beshear? Axe the whole Beshear subplot! Reshoot Hillary’s dialogue, she’s making it all about herself again! And Christ, get Hochul off the screen, she’s box-office poison.” Chris Coons was outright embarrassing, having to intone “First Lady Jill Biden” three times to the crowd before they were willing to show sufficient enthusiasm for Lady MacRehoboth. And Jill Biden’s speech itself was somehow louder and more unpleasantly overenunciated than her dress.
To end a night of drear, Joe Biden’s 45-minute ramble was singularly unrevealing, a tribute to himself rather than Kamala Harris, the candidate he nominally came to speak for. (He did grant that he has no hard feelings about being knifed by his own party.) Perhaps one shouldn’t begrudge a man delivering his own funeral oration, but it was a pointlessly glum — albeit shouted — conclusion to a night whose only speech of note was Raphael Warnock’s: He revealed with rhetorical skill just how difficult it will be to dislodge him from his Georgia Senate seat come future elections. As for me? I left somewhere around 9:00 p.m., and it took nearly 20 minutes just to find the proper exit from the security perimeter. (There was still a line of people half a mile long waiting to enter the building.) I walked home, rubbed my sore feet, and thought, “Well, back at it again tomorrow.” Obama speaks tonight, and I’m hoping for excitement for a change.