At the first several debates, all the journalists hung on every word, on every expression, on every blink of indecision. Excitement ripped from the beginning to the end. But this is the 19th debate, occurring in only two months since Iowa, the verbal arteries have now hardened. There are no more gaffes, little emotional fireworks, no interesting statements. The press room is struggling against the onslaught of brain-deadness. But this is about to change.
Obese editor says to typing pencil-thin, "I feel sort of guilty for hitting Hillary so hard in the magazine, but Norte Dame [Clinton] won this debate." On the other side of me, a young brunette in tight wavy dress with large dark eyes, says, "It's amazing how they didn't really answer the questions." Obese is saying to pencil-thin, "But I think Hillary, I think Hillary can be an OK president." I say to wavy dress and large dark eyes, "Uhmm, yeah, I agree --" The press room explodes in a frenzy of activity.
Scooping up computers, tripping over chairs, going over tables, it's the mad rush for the door -- elbows flying, shins kicked. "Watch out!" a beefy TV technician growls. A camera slams my hip. A woman is shoved against the wall. The debate has ended, and out ripped the vicious underbelly of American journalism. We've returned to being gutter rats. "Come on! Move it!" a woman growls, half way up my back.
Down the hallway in an open area is the "spin room." After every debate, representatives for each candidate appear in the spin room to be mugged by hundreds of charging and squealing journalists as TV cameras blind everyone and Nikon's flash thousands of little white dots in the blinded eyes. And in the spin room the spokespeople calmly deliver the most stunning news that their candidate won the debate. "There is no doubt that Obama was very impressive in the debate," says a lanky campaign worker cocooned by maybe forty scribbling journalists. Suddenly someone trips and slams their head into the back of another journalist. "Watch out!" the back stopper barks. "We are quite happy with how she did," a Clinton advisor is telling another group. Carl screams, "Is it true Senator Clinton has a Muslim lover?" Ignoring his question, "Does the Senator believe after this debate she will win Texas?" She responds, "Oh, certainly!"Pinned up for nearly two hours in press rooms, the animal kingdom of journalism is now circling their prey and squawking questions. The campaign trail is back! Tomorrow morning I'm zipping up to Dallas, Obama has a rally there. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" Carl screams, "Is it true Hillary has a Muslim lover?" After Dallas I'm headed to Amarillo, where McCain has a town hall meeting. Then.... As for how to avoid that ugly snap of the mind? That's simple. Take a break. Go to a boring debate. Get penned up. This is what 20 years of campaign madness has taught me. And after the break, you're be foaming to get back on the brutal trail. Enough of the spin room, I scoot down the hallway and out the door hopping in my car. Forget about tomorrow, I'm off to Dallas!
Obese editor says to typing pencil-thin, "I feel sort of guilty for hitting Hillary so hard in the magazine, but Norte Dame [Clinton] won this debate." On the other side of me, a young brunette in tight wavy dress with large dark eyes, says, "It's amazing how they didn't really answer the questions." Obese is saying to pencil-thin, "But I think Hillary, I think Hillary can be an OK president." I say to wavy dress and large dark eyes, "Uhmm, yeah, I agree --" The press room explodes in a frenzy of activity.
Scooping up computers, tripping over chairs, going over tables, it's the mad rush for the door -- elbows flying, shins kicked. "Watch out!" a beefy TV technician growls. A camera slams my hip. A woman is shoved against the wall. The debate has ended, and out ripped the vicious underbelly of American journalism. We've returned to being gutter rats. "Come on! Move it!" a woman growls, half way up my back.
Down the hallway in an open area is the "spin room." After every debate, representatives for each candidate appear in the spin room to be mugged by hundreds of charging and squealing journalists as TV cameras blind everyone and Nikon's flash thousands of little white dots in the blinded eyes. And in the spin room the spokespeople calmly deliver the most stunning news that their candidate won the debate. "There is no doubt that Obama was very impressive in the debate," says a lanky campaign worker cocooned by maybe forty scribbling journalists. Suddenly someone trips and slams their head into the back of another journalist. "Watch out!" the back stopper barks. "We are quite happy with how she did," a Clinton advisor is telling another group. Carl screams, "Is it true Senator Clinton has a Muslim lover?" Ignoring his question, "Does the Senator believe after this debate she will win Texas?" She responds, "Oh, certainly!"Pinned up for nearly two hours in press rooms, the animal kingdom of journalism is now circling their prey and squawking questions. The campaign trail is back! Tomorrow morning I'm zipping up to Dallas, Obama has a rally there. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" Carl screams, "Is it true Hillary has a Muslim lover?" After Dallas I'm headed to Amarillo, where McCain has a town hall meeting. Then.... As for how to avoid that ugly snap of the mind? That's simple. Take a break. Go to a boring debate. Get penned up. This is what 20 years of campaign madness has taught me. And after the break, you're be foaming to get back on the brutal trail. Enough of the spin room, I scoot down the hallway and out the door hopping in my car. Forget about tomorrow, I'm off to Dallas!
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