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Bad Journalist, No Hot Dogs

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strychnine

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Aug 16, 1996, 3:00:00 AM8/16/96

SAN DIEGO, California (Thu, 15 Aug 96)-- Did you see Kay Bailey Hutchison
on Larry King? Did you? Oh man, that was a soul-killing experience.
There I was in the press filing center writing this screed, and the CNN
feed brought me Larry King's interview with Rappin' Kay-bee, the woman who
set fire to the Republican Party with a long non-sensical
stream-of-consciousness experiment in oratory free association that she
delivered in the voice and meter that was practically a parody of Bob
Doleąs lively patter.

Suddenly, the Senator from Texas is young, hip, sexy and turning down
proposals from Bob Guccione. And Larry King is doing his trademark
kiss-up routine from the CNN box in the convention center, feeding her
straight lines, peeling grapes for her and polishing her toenails. This
is what we get at the end of the first age of American democracy.

No no. There is no story here. Even Ted Koppel said so. He and his
crack gang of 'Nightline' information brokers bailed on covering the
convention, making a big scene out of saying, "There is no news here.
Itąs all scripted. There will be no surprises."

Oh? You mean thereąs nothing interesting to tell about the egregious
prevarication and shameless bogosity transpiring everywhere, at once, on
the street, inside the hall, and clustered around the watering holes and
feeding troughs in the Marriott and the Hyatt?

At just before 2:30 PM, I was blessed with an unexpected opportunity to
ask Pete Wilson, the Governor of California, that very question. I was
standing around the south gate where a local talk radio station had set up
a field studio.

Suddenly, out of the blue, the governor called into the Stacey Taylor show
to squid for the District Attorney, who had also randomly just happened to
stop by for no earthly reason. No really. Believe it. You donąt think
something like that could be staged, do you?

But the governor had to pay a price to use KFMB to get a free plug in for
one of his buddies. The station required that he take a question from the
crowd on the street. When no one else volunteered, I stepped up to the
mic.

I said, "First, Iąd like to thank you for opting to serve out your full
term as governor... but my question is whatąs your take on Ted Koppel and
the 'Nightline' crew bugging out of the convention on account of there
being no news here, that itąs all basically just an awards ceremony with
secret service protection?"

The response? I wish I had a tape. Iąm tempted to call the radio station
and see if I can get them to send it to me. I couldn't follow his
rambling response very well, but it appeared to me that he took the
opportunity I gave him to call Ted Koppel a raging hypocrit and blame the
whole sorry spectacle on the biased, liberal, effete press.

Itąs their fault, those bastards. It used to be you could broker a
convention in the back rooms, but those snivelling rodents in the
so-called fourth estate gave them indian burns until they relented and
promised not to do it anymore. So now the only thing left to do is to
turn the convention into a week-long episode of The 700 Club. Sorry,
governor-- I call bullshit.

Ugh. On another note, if you missed the Young Republican session this
morning, you should make sure you catch the recap on C-SPAN. Susan
Molinari promised a hall full of young punks the same age as me that Bob
Doleąs first budget would be a balanced one. And not once did she say
anything about cutting taxes and saving social security. They ate it up.
In the garden of professional liars, the people will never hunger for the
truth.

Jester sends his suggestions for how to liven up the political process.
Iąm almost ready to agree with him after the last four days. Check this
out:

[...]
"What the party needs is blood. Blood like what could only be seen on
toga day at the Coliseum when gladiators fought with rusty spoons for the
amusement of Roman mobs.

"Give the viewers a little sport. Think of the ratings you would get if
Newt Gingrich was publicly garroted by Jack Kemp, or if Pat Buchanan was
thrown into a pit of starving Act Up members.

"Bob Dole does not need an award ceremony-- he needs to publicly behead
his detractors and demonstrate his supremacy to all and sundry.

"'There can be only one,' he would shriek as Libby brings the axe down on
Pat's head, 'and that one is Bob Dole!'

"Then in victory, Bob could ride astride his chariot up and down Harbor
Drive with Pat's head in his hands.

"Now that would rule."
[...]

Ahhhh. Bill Clinton, what is best in life?

A family. A good job. And a home in a safe neighborhood.

Wrong! Conan the Kansanator, what is best in life?

To kill and eat your enemies. To see their people enslaved in your yoke.
And to hear the lamentations of whining little gits with no power to
oppose you.

Yes! That is best in life.

I watched the candidate's nomination acceptance speech on CNN from the
foul ground of The Elephant Bar at the Mariott. There wasn't an empty
seat with a view of the big screen, and I graciously gave up my seat to a
noxious woman with a bad dye job in order to permit her to remain seated
without blocking the view of man in a wheelchair. I stood in the back by
the bar for most of the speech.

Here are my notes from observing the reactions of the crowd to their fave
lines in the candidate's speech:

--End of the IRS as we know it.
--Disregarding the political power of the teacherąs unions.
--Save Medicare and Social Security.
--The military will not be asked to do more with less.
--U.S. Army out of the United Nations.
--History has yet to give GeoBu enough credit for the Gulf War.
--Bob Dole is the most optimistic man in America.

As soon as the balloons dropped, CNN interrupted with a report from the
White House that George Stephanopoulous described the speech as the most
negative, the most partisan, the ugliest acceptance speech a Republican
nominee had ever given, that he was shocked to learn that Bob Dole was
raised by cannibals.

The crowd in the bar erupted into righteous indignation. How dare those
dope smoking, child molesters at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue run such smack
against the future king of America? Have they no shame? The woman
standing immediately next to me kept repeating to herself, "I can't
believe it. That is such baloney. I can't believe it."

I quipped as I was packing up my computer, "You didn't actually think you
had a monopoly on lying to the people, did you?"

She didn't say a word to me. I simply strode defiantly out the bar, down
the stairs, out the door, past the secret service guys dutifully tearing
apart a delivery van with bomb-sniffing dogs, and into the hot and humid
San Diego night. The convention was over, Elvis had left the building.
It was time to go home and integrate.

In ten days, the Democrats will do the same thing in Chicago. You have no
idea how little I want to be a part of that awful spectacle. All I want
to do is coil up into a little ball and wait for the deep hurting to
commence.

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