Five days and counting.
Soon Denver will be filthy with media (left and right), politicos, security goons and, oh yeah, loads of democrats. Welcome donkeys. When news broke the Democratic National Convention would make a summer home in Denver, I was stoked. History in the making. That yummy Anderson Cooper. The first African American presidential candidate. Hillary!
However, as the local media will do, the focus for weeks has been on the inconvenience, the added traffic, needed road closures, helicopters buzzing by (check out pal Amy’s high-rise vantage point of security runs) and being patted in the privates by men in black at every turn (okay, that doesn’t sound so bad). City dwellers are hunkering down, preparing as one would for a blizzard, stocking up on essentials and canceling social activities; they fear leaving the bosomy comfort of home and secure parking spots. ‘Burb buddies refuse to venture downtown, anywhere near major thoroughfares. Employees, fearing the crowds, delays and ticker tape, plan to work at home for the week, draining millions from city coffers in the way of lattes, parking and lunch.
Even the homeless are being shipped out to matinees daily.
Amy won’t come out to celebrate her birthday. Can’t get a girlfriend to catch the last of an outdoor summer concert series, one that requires being on the open road the day of Obama’s acceptance speech. Forget the booty call.
Better get laid by Monday, then gear up for a lonely week. Vodka? Check. Batteries? Check Check. Sex and politics, indeed.