Ever get that feeling that everyone is Corey Lewandowski?
You go to some reptilian-themed restaurant before and after the main event to order some bubbly, sabotage the jukebox and unwind, and you catch the eye of more than one crewcut-festooned dude of indecipherable age.
That's never happened to you?
No?
Huh.
Well, that's been an apt metaphor for our week so far (one of many) here in Cleveland at the Republican National Convention, especially Wednesday, when chasing down the dream meant lurking on the arena floor among men whose suits cost more than your car and soooooo many neckwaddles waving in the Ted Cruz-boo-fueled breeze.
11 a.m., downtown.
Our train (Yes! They have train! What a time to be alive!) whisks us downtown. In Public Square, the centrally located designated event zone, a local protest group has taken to a small stage to talk about Israel and Palestine, and critique both parties' approaches (not you, Bernie, you're an angel). A guy takes to the stage, uke in hand, to voice his protest of the West's role in all of it... with song.
Maybe it's time for a bite or something.
12:30 p.m., a killer joint called Noodle Cat.
We note that Wednesday is Florida Man Night in the arena. (We need to revise one detail, though: U.S. Sen. Marco Rubio couldn't be bothered to teleport here; his "appearance" consisted of a canned speech via satellite. What a time to be alive!)
12:29, Bonerland.
The Donald Trump campaign issues a statement on the Melania speech — it was an unknown staffer who, between bong rips probably, spaced out and unconsciously lifted a passage from First Lady Michelle Obama's 2008 DNC speech a la George Harrison's accidental aping of the Chiffons' "He's So Fine" in his writing of "My Sweet Lord."
Trump, for once in his life, says "hey, no worries, man, people fuck up" and everyone moves on.
The jury's out on whether or not that was what actually went down, but whatevs.
1:30 p.m., Cleveland State University campus.
Holy shit. We are in a lecture hall checking out a panel of Republicans who are talking about shifting the party's messaging on environment toward acknowledgement of — wait for it — empirically gathered, objective... SCIENCE!
GOP consultants warned of a political "Armageddon" if Republicans don't stop ignoring the data on climate change and the impacts of pollution; the focus ought to be on developing solutions that compete with those proposed on the left.
That was too much substance for one day. Maybe someone will burn a flag or something.
Time undisclosed.
Me make flag burn! Such protest!
6:50 p.m., the Perimeter
We swiftly make it through security; we're worried Governor Rick Scott will start his B-list slot speech about jobs or whatever early because he seems to live on whatever the opposite of Aloha Time is. We pick up a beverage at a makeshift bar on the way in. Rum and diet. Good combo to get us into the right mindset. Asked if we wanted a double, we had to think for a second or two before declining.
8-ish, the Big Tent.
Governor Rick Scott speaketh. We're not sure if it was an audio glitch or on or neural origins, but we detect a lisp. Attorney General Pam Bondi speaks moments later. Substance? Nah.
9:30 p.m.
Exactly what we came here for, followed by Newt Gingrich, Mike Pence and a wonderful Onion article to sum it up.
1 a.m., roughly.
Corey Lewandowski, we have to stop running into each other like this.
