DNC, Night One: Interminable and Indulgent

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.

About the Author

Jeffrey Blehar

Jeffrey Blehar is a National Review staff writer living in Chicago. He is also the co-host of National Review’s Political Beats podcast, which explores the great music of the modern era with guests from the political world happy to find something non-political to talk about.

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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.

About the Author

Jeffrey Blehar

Jeffrey Blehar is a National Review staff writer living in Chicago. He is also the co-host of National Review’s Political Beats podcast, which explores the great music of the modern era with guests from the political world happy to find something non-political to talk about.