Republican National Convention Blog

Imagine watching the MSU football game with your best friends.

You’re sitting around the TV in a half circle, chatting it up between plays. You yell at the TV when an interception is thrown, you cheer when the Green and White run it in for six. You’re drinking, um… You’re drinking. Something. Maybe it’s Coca-Cola. Well, whatever, not the point.

Take that image and think about it really hard. You can smell the chicken wings, the fresh fall air and the, um, Coca-Cola.

Got it?

Now here’s something else to think about — think about members of the Michigan Republican Party huddled around the TV, laughing, yelling and cheering while watching Fox News in the hotel media room… because that’s exactly what’s happening as I type this.

See everybody, we’re not all that different.

“My unit committed atrocities in Vietnam,” a demonstrator yelled at the line of machine-like police officers. “I am an honorable soldier just like you.”

The police, clad in bulky black riot gear, stood in lines two people deep blocking off 7th Avenue along St. Peter Road. Protestors streamed down the other end of 7th Avenue only to be greeted by the gas mask-wearing, billy club-brandishing officers. People stood in awe as the Vietnam veteran walked up to within inches of the impregnable line of police to scold them. Many of the protestors cheered the demonstrator on. After the tirade, he left the premises peacefully.

Mickey’s Diner rests on the corner of the protest site. I was eating in the St. Paul landmark before the procession came here, which is when the employees informed me they would have to lock the doors from the outside. Although the diner was near-vacant, Mickey’s was seeing plenty of action as police paraded around it, and one lucky officer got a seat atop the diner.

This particular member of the force was the subject of humorous ridicule, as one passerby shouted to the perched police officer, “How much did Mickey pay you for that lap dance?” Mickey’s became the subject of several creative jeers, such as “We want our hamburgers. When do we want them? Now!” and “Hey cops, you can have your donuts, we just want our hamburgers!”

The protest showed no signs of potential danger. There was rampant lingering, but that was the most egregious offense — aside from swearing at police officers, which is probably a given during such events. But as the congregation grew more plentiful, so did criticism of the police.

Anarchist groups arrived on the scene, which did not resonate well with many of the peaceful protestors. Most of the protestors were in their 20s and acted appropriately, but the anarchists started loud chants that disrupted a general, merry calm.

For the most part, people kept walking along the designated marching route. The hundred or so protestors who remained at the corner of St. Peter and 7th Avenue became the police’s target. Over a span of about 15 minutes, the police announced over the loudspeakers that the refusal to keep moving made the protest unlawful.

Many people began pulling their shirts over their noses and mouths in preparation of tear gassing. It was difficult to walk anywhere without hearing somebody mention such a tear gassing was only moments away.

As people were lazily continuing down St. Peter, all I could hear was what sounded like gigantic drums being struck followed by screaming. Then all I could see was smoke. Then all I could do was run for my life.

The tear gas started getting into my eyes and lungs, and I struggled to pull my press pass out to show I wasn’t a protestor. A group of five police officers in camouflage uniforms pulled out bottles of pepper spray and were a mere five feet away from me and five seconds away from using the spray on me until I finally pulled my pass out. I jumped over a couple of small walls, straining or pulling my hamstring in the process, making it to safety.

Or at least I thought it was safety. I called our editorial advisor, Omar Sofradzija, to let him know I was safe — except my phone call was cut short as the police had moved into the street I had taken refuge in and had begun shooting more tear gas. I was on the run again.

Eventually I actually made it to safety, but police cars continued to race around me. There were hardly any people around me, so I had time to think, and I thought about the Vietnam veteran who started the night by yelling at police officers. He was a soldier just like the police officers — and he knew exactly what was going to happen that night.

My waiter tonight in the hotel, Ronnie, has been associated with the hotel business for the past 12 and a half years.

Ronnie is a Minnesota Timberwolves fan. He enjoys ice fishing. He loves the Midwest.

You could tell he likes listening more than talking, saw the positives when the atmosphere was overwhelmingly negative and would do anything to help out a person in need. He was a Midwesterner.

Or a good actor.

Ronnie has only been at this Minnesota restaurant for the past six months. Before then, he lived in Biloxi, Mississippi — then Hurricane Katrina happened.

Katrina took Ronnie’s home, which he built with his bare hands. When he speaks to his relatives, they tell him he talks funny now, although he explains he just doesn’t feel the need to talk at 100 mph like his southern kin. But he hopes to one day move back there, maybe after that unlike the south, there is a middle class. Ronnie explained the dichotomy in the south is drastic: “You’re either rich or you’re broke.”

So when Ronnie heard about the Republican Party’s concern with Hurricane Gustav approaching the Gulf Coast, almost exactly three years after the Bush administration’s missteps in that region, all he could think of was one thing: “It’s utter crap.”

Minnesota isn’t exactly the center of glitz and glamour, but that doesn’t mean a few meager paycheck-earning college journalists can’t live it up like the stars.

The Republican National Convention is the closest you could come to a political awards show (aside from the more celebrity-laden Democratic National Convention), so it’s not surprising that we were greeted with goodie bags upon arrival.

But this isn’t your average $1,000 bottle of Chanel perfume, $10,000 gold Rolex watch gift basket that have been so popularized by the mainstream media. No no no, we get something better — collector’s edition Republican National Convention Kraft Macaroni & Cheese.

Now, we might not ethically be able to accept such enticing gifts, so I want to make it clear that we are not being bought by anybody. But when I first laid eyes on the elephant shaped pasta pieces, I knew a collector’s dream was packaged in the blue rectangular box.

I can only imagine what kind of money this “Limited Convention Edition” box of Mac & Cheese could produce on eBay. There’s a market for things like that, I’m sure of it. My own father often purchases random crap online as long as it meets two nonspecific qualifications: rare and useless.

Still, there’s something intriguing about a cartoon elephant in a suit holding a “Republicans in 2008” sign over a bowl of macaroni. As bizarre as it is that somebody would scour eBay for something like this box of food, it’s even crazier to think about how commercial these important national political events have become.

Sneaking in through the back door of the ballroom at the Northland Inn in Brooklyn Park, Minn., former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney was greeted with loud cheers and a standing ovation Wednesday morning.

Romney, a Michigan native who was the state’s presidential pick in the Jan. 15 primary, gave a charismatic speech to the delegation, filled with jokes and plenty of laughs from the audience.

Though Romney was hopeful to be the Republican presidential nominee, he reinforced his endorsement of John McCain stating: “John McCain won fair and square.”

Romney said though he doesn’t always see eye-to-eye with the Arizona senator, he does agree with his platforms on the “issues of our time.”

“John McCain is right, and Barack Obama is wrong,” he said.

Seemingly a crowd favorite this week, along with first lady Laura Bush, Romney finished up his speech with a joke.

“I know my time on the stage is up here, but in a lot of respects, my time on the stage is up,” he said, laughing, as the delegation erupted into cheers of “No!”

Usually, the expansive grass lawn in front of the capitol building in St. Paul is reserved for politicians and lobbyists. Usually, casual attire means khakis and a blazer. Usually, it’s an area of calm and order.

On Tuesday, St. Paul’s Capitol Building became unusual.

Thousands of devil stick-playing neo-hippies flocked to the Capitol Building for Ripple Effect, a peace protest that infused music and activism. Several artists, including Matisyahu and Anti-Flag, performed at the concert. Informational booths on eco-friendly products and other forms of alternative living were showcased as well.

It might not even be a stretch to say the most preferred hairstyle of those in attendance was unwashed and their favorite perfume cigarette smoke, but they sure did know how to put on a good show.

Many people dodged class to come to the protest concert, which began at noon and ended at 7 p.m. Even though it was a cold day — oh, and welcome to September, people — these parishioners of the Church of Marley were frolicking around in shorts, T-shirts and tanktops. The less-brave minority wore hooded sweatshirts, often identifying the school they would have been taking classes at had they not skipped them.

Just as the Republican Party was unifying a few blocks down the road, it seemed everybody else in the city at that time was doing the same thing during this concert at the capitol.

It will be interesting to see what happens when these two unified blocs fight for our nation’s capitol.

The overarching theme of this convention has become togetherness, and that was exemplified by Monday’s brief appearances by first lady Laura Bush and Cindy McCain, wife of Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz.

Whether this would have been the case before Hurricane Gustav, I really couldn’t tell you. The convention program was supposed to revolve around service, and this could fall in line with that. The Republican Party has made its constituents aware that the party and its members must do whatever they can to aid those affected by Gustav.

The Arizona senator has repeatedly said over these past couple of days that “we must take off our Republican hats and put on our American hats,” something his wife reiterated Monday. The togetherness was showcased by a video of the governors of Mississippi, Alabama, Florida and Texas in which the governors said there was a relative calm in the Gulf Coast given the circumstances.

It’s interesting to see the party talk about togetherness when there were so many potential candidates just a few short months ago. With a list of candidates that large, there was also a list of interests and tastes just as diverse. It can be argued McCain was caught in the middle of these tastes as the “Maverick,” a more centrist conservative.

Months ago, the party appeared fragmented. Many voiced uneasiness about McCain’s social conservative credentials. But on night one of the Republican National Convention we heard about unity and togetherness. Cindy McCain got the same standing ovation from the state delegations that Laura Bush received.

If this was a divided party before, you’d never know it now.

Sunday night, the four of us (two reporters and two photographers) were told we could pick anywhere we wanted to go for dinner.

It wasn’t hard to choose an Italian restaurant, and after a few Internet searches, we settled on a place called Pazzaluna in St. Paul.

After being told the outdoor patio was full, we settled on a table in the dining room, which we weren’t sure if we were classy enough for but went anyway.

Overhearing the table next to us talking about network TV stations, Omar, our editorial adviser, leaned over to ask where they were from only to find Tom Brokaw sitting right there.

Freaking out and a little mortified, we buried our heads in the menus.

Zack Colman and I were sitting next to each other and kept saying “Is this really happening?”

It’s probably true that we weren’t classy enough to eat at that restaurant, because at the end of the meal we had Omar ask Tom to take a picture with us.

At first, he said he didn’t want to – and fair enough, we decided, because then everyone would want a picture, right?

But he soon changed his mind and we got our picture.

According to one source (Sam Ruiz, photographer) Tom Brokaw has really soft hands.

And according to another (the waitress) Tom Brokaw ordered a Grey Goose martini that night.