In predicting projectile plasma in the presidential primary debate at FAU, one writer never guessed it would be coming from him.
The belly of the beast was a cafeteria at Florida Atlantic University. The school was kind enough to host a media dinner from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. at its Centre Marketplace before last week's Republican presidential debate. The place was alive with old men in bad suits and young men in good ones — telling newspapermen from broadcasters is that easy. Occasionally, a dude in shorts and a wool cap or ripped jeans and a week-old beard walked by: a photographer or cameraman, of course. Several large televisions were showing MSNBC's Tucker, with former Republican National Committee Chairman Ken Mehlman's thin face spouting off about freedom the way the Dems talk about change.
I pondered what I was doing here as I ate my skirt steak, black beans and rice. I feel no kinship to these cynical bastards in the press, and the Republican Party strikes me as some sort of greedy, crypto-fascist cult. Something had pulled me here, though, like a pol to a camera. Being a political junkie is like that. When the center of the political universe is only a stone's throw away, it pulls at you with its own gravity. And on this night, the mother ship had landed in Boca Raton.
The media filing center hummed with whispered conversations as I ambled around, trying to find my reserved spot. Out of about 20 rows of tables, I was in the seventh row back. There is a careful pecking order to these things, from the Associated Press and Reuters in the front row to Time magazine and The New York Times in the second and some middle-school newspaper all the way in the back. The seat to my right was reserved for some guy from Germany's Der Spiegel, and the one next to him for Spain's El Pa's. To my left was a spot for something called Third Eye Media, then Zagat and finally two spots for another unknown quantity, Iron Mill News. Almost an entire row behind me was dedicated to Newsmax, the West Palm Beach-based national news service and magazine with a political angle just to the left of Pinochet. In front of me, seats were reserved for The American Spectator, National Review and another one for Newsmax. When the Newsmax people arrived, I made a mental note to keep my opinions to myself, lest I be torn apart by the rabid badgers of conservative thought. All it would take is one "universal health care may not be so bad," and no one would ever find the body. The Newsmax people would save my heart, so they could watch the guys from the Spectator and the Review fight over it.
But my fears were allayed as the Newsmax reporters bickered among themselves over the signage on their microphone. One lamented the fact that his microphone box was not larger. But that got boring real quick. Mother of God, this was dull.
A guy who looks exactly like Dwight Schrute from The Office coughed and then snorted loudly. I stepped outside to have a cigarette and realized I wasn't far from the students' watch party. "Music, food, people on a similar wavelength," I thought. "Screw the media." The watch party was taking place along the street, with rows of vendors but a fairly disappointing turnout among students. News of Dennis Kucinich's dropping out of the race made its way through the crowd, and no one seemed to care. But even students who don't like the Republican Party were happy to have the debates held on their campus.
"It is exciting," said 27-year-old grad student Mike Fallik, who boasted a T-shirt witha picture of a woman's crotch next to one of the president above the words Good Bush, Bad Bush. "This is not something that happensin South Florida very often, much less BocaRaton."
Fallik expressed some distress about Florida's primaries, especially the lack of delegates for the Democratic side and, like many conscious voters, expressed a desire for a national, state-by-state primary day. "The parties do set the pace for the election, and it should stay that way, in which case the parties do need to make a point, or it's just going to keep getting earlier and earlier," Fallik reasoned. "And that's a big problem. But the other side is, why should the early states have such a say in the primaries, and why not have them all on the same day? And I think I'm for that."
As I headed back to the filing center, I passed MSNBC's Joe Scarborough, sidling toward the Hardball studio. The filing center had filled out. All the bigwigs had arrived. The wire-services tables were full, and New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd sat languidly behind them, flipping through a book. My own table was now occupied by the fellow from El Pa's. An Asian cam- era crew had taken over Iron Mill News' and Zagat's spots, while to my left sat John Kennedy, the Orlando Sentinel's Tallahassee bureau chief. I got some trail mix and a Mountain Dew from the snack bar, then sat down just at the same time as the guy from Third Eye Media, which turned out to be the one-man operation of Sam Rosenberg. A 20-something following the political campaigns around the country, Rosenberg had a grand idea to write a Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail-style book on the primaries, the media and the stupidity between.
"It is all a bit of a sham, isn't it?" I askedhim.
"A bit?" he glowered.
I shrugged and popped some trail mix. There was a crunch, and I tasted blood. I surreptitiously removed the crown that had just popped loose from my mouth and placed it in the cellophane from my pack of cigarettes.
"Anyway, it's a fine notion you have," I continued, as I rummaged through my bag for some Lorcet and lorazepam.
"The whole thing just seems backward," he scowled.
I nodded, popped a pill and knocked it back with a swig of ice-cold Mountain Dew that sent the exposed stump of a molar into spirals of supersensitive agony. The debate seemed to make less and less sense as it dragged on. Rosenberg took notes with the grim determination of a man slogging through a mire.
Sen. John McCain talked about households making their 2010 budgets and realizing that they're in trouble. But who the hell does that? When one of the moderators brought up McCain's recent line that he "doesn't really understand economics," McCain denied ever having said it but pointed out that his go-to guy on economic issues is former Sen. Phil Gramm, a man who, it has often been said, is despised evenby his closest friends.
Mike Huckabee talked about expanding I-95 by two lanes, from Maine to Florida, because of all the moms who can't get their kids to "dance recitals" and "soccer games."
Co-moderator Tim Russert kept returning to Mitt Romney's "fee increases" as governor of Massachusetts, sounding desperate for one of his patented, ridiculous "gotcha" moments. Fellow moderator Brian Williams mentioned 9/11 in a question to Rudy Giuliani, opening the door for the mayor's brand of self-beatification.
To another question, McCain answered, "I know of no military leader ... who says we can't sustain our presence in Iraq," and then, twice within 30 seconds, accused Hillary Clinton of waving "the white flag of surrender." In the very next question, Williams quoted retired Gen. Barry McCaffrey, who says our presence in Iraq cannot be sustained.
Then, the debate entered a phase in which each candidate could ask another a question. But since all the questions had been preapproved, the whole thing became a lame suckfest, as also-rans angling for a vice-presidential spot fellated those doing better in the polls.
Russert then brought up global warming. The Newsmax guys behind me groaned, but both McCain and Giuliani maintained that the situation is real. On an even-more-positive note, the debate ended with Romney's referring to the presidency as a "secular position" and Huckabee's saying, "The fact is, this country has always been a country where people were able to respect people who had faith. And frankly, we ought to be able to respect people who don't have any."
"Isn't it pretty to think so?" I muttered. Rosenberg didn't look up from his writing. Sustained on painkillers and buoyed by disillusion, I swallowed blood and floated to the door.
Contact Dan Sweeney at dfsweeney@citylinkmagazine.com.
Right wings only
Democratic presidential candidate John Edwards may have set the bar after holding court at the Giggling Goat restaurant in Boone, Iowa, but as Republican contenders blitzed South Florida last week, we caught Mitt Romney at the Wings Plus in Coral Springs. It turns out the strip-mall eatery has been a longtime haven for the GOP. "Historically, it's a Republican happy place," a Romney staffer revealed. "All the winners have stopped here."
Who knew? But it's true. President Bush,his brother Jeb, and Gov. Charlie Cristhave all used this Wings Plus as a good-luck charm on their way into higher political office.
"Happy to be in that group," Romney said before peeling through a quick stump speech.
"He has nice hair," customer Arica Beath of Plantation said of Romney's appeal.
"Some people do think he may be too good-looking to be president," her husband, Kenny Beath, added.
Romney went off message only for a moment to look out over the crowd and abruptly ask, "Is that a mirror, or is that another room?"
It was another room. Wings Plus is pretty big for a wing joint, which brings us to the point of all this. Regardless of the outcome of the recent primary, candidates will be making dozens of South Florida stops in the coming months, and it's a great way to check out restaurants and other businesses. You don't even have to be for a particular nominee. Greg Hennings of Weston said he's a "McCain man" but stopped by because it was on his way to work. "I thought it would be interesting, and I'd never been inside Wings Plus," he explained.
Exactly. Besides Bush photos on the walls of the restaurant, there's a nice shot of Arnold Schwarzenegger and several well-placed televisions. A welcoming sign by the register reads: "Long Island Spoken Here." And no matter what your political affiliation, the place serves up the best damn raspberry-garlic wings this side of the Promised Land. Go, Mitt!
Review
Food: A
Service: B+
Entertainment: Presidential hopeful Mitt Romney, B-
— T.M. Shine
