Convention Party Crasher!
by Dave "Doctor" Gonzo

Wednesday, August 16, 2000 -- BEVERLY HILLS (AmpolNS) -- The flight in from New York on Monday was terrible: turbulence, some awful movie, a meal fit for... well, not humans, and a half-hour-late landing at LAX. The driver waiting for me somehow managed to get me to the Beverly Hilton in about half the time I had expected.

Now, most Americans that follow the conventions assume all the action is happening at the Staples Center.

That's where everyone from C-SPAM to the big networks to dot.com news generates their coverage. That's where the delegates are. That's where Rage Against the Machine was concertizing -- okay, that may be a stretch, but they are within camera range of the Staples Center.

Well, friends, throw your assumptions out the window.

On the way into the Beverly Hilton lobby I passed a guy who looked way out of place for Southern California -- blue blazer, twill khakis, rep tie -- giving a subordinate hell on his cell phone, tearing him a fresh hole because "the limo isn't here, goddammit, the party starts in twenty minutes, and I've gotta twist Lofgren's arm."

Obviously he was not the mellow LA type.

He had a lapel pin I recognized -- one that, after doing a little mental calculus, placed him as either a lobbyist for or "paying" player from the energy industry. It was also a sure bet that he wasn't referring to legendary rocker Nils Lofgren -- and that Rep. Zoe Lofgren, a rising Democrat star, had a pretty full dance card for the week.

Yep -- this is where the real convention action was coming down. The Beverly Hilton. Not to mention Hotel Nikko Beverly Hills, the Beverly Hills Hotel, the Beverly Crescent, Four Seasons Beverly Hills, the Beverly Wilshire, and every other "luxury" firetrap within convenient shopping distance of Rodeo Drive.

I'd landed at Lobbyist Ground Zero.

I'd settled into my room and just taken a shower when I heard the expected knock on the door. A familiar female voice said, "Doctor, this is your wake-up call."

I threw on my robe -- with a feeling of déjà vu. "Door's open, Julianna. You're early!"

In walked my always-drop-dead-gorgeous pal Julianna. She used to be a concert pianist, but quit playing after she developed tendonitis -- so she went to law school. She and I are both veterans of the "big-label" record industry. She's now a legal affairs VP for a media company that includes television production, working on the East Coast -- and she's a Dem contributor.

"Aren't you ever going to lose that tacky-looking robe, Doc? I'm surprised Krysztyna hasn't thrown it out!"

"She's tried, Jules, but husbands have a way of thwarting even the best intentions of their spouses. You should know that by know."

"Thanks for the reminder. The good news is that Clinton's running late. Real late. Get dressed and come join us -- he'll be on in twenty minutes."

Fast-forward thirty minutes. I was dressed presentably for once (the only custom suit I have, and it still fits after a year) and had triple-checked to see that my press credentials were in my pocket. Jules, her husband Dave, their friend Gracie and I were in a decent-sized suite watching the convention. A bottle of wine had just been opened and was being poured. The tube was tuned to CNN.

And Bill Clinton was walking that corridor.

I said "He's already out-Elvis-ing The King himself!" You could already hear the audience going wild. Mick Jagger, eat your heart out.

Gracie said, "You know, if the Beatles were 'bigger than Jesus,' and Clinton's bigger than the Beatles..."

"...it's no wonder Falwell hates his guts so much," chimed in Dave.

Needless to say, Clinton more than slam-dunked his speech. I've never seen any president at a convention -- not even Reagan -- get the rock-star reception Clinton received. Heck, he even said "Thankyew, thankyew" like The King.

The speech was over -- far too soon.

And the fun was about to begin.

First stop -- a party at the private Beverly Hills residence of a recording executive. Lots of intricate finger food. Lots of booze. Lots of lobbyists jockeying to bend the ears of big-shot "superdelegates" -- mostly members of Congress -- in attendance.

We were near one superdelegate as he approached a red-haired woman in an Armani suit, gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, and said "Thank you, I really appreciate your support this time around." Some talk about air pollution in Texas followed -- we all guessed that she must be an environmental lobbyist. We overheard a bunch of small talk, but then a surprising comment from the woman -- "Don't give in to insurance and big pharma on Medicare reform."

Had to be a "free agent" -- a private contributor.

There was one camera crew on hand from a private outfit I've heard of. They looked to be working for a broadcaster or cable outfit -- what looked to be a Democratic party sub-honcho was shepherding the line producer, cameraman, interviewer and microphone guy from VIP to VIP. They were working so fast they weren't even "running bars" -- those vertical color bar test patterns -- between tape changes. That's amateurish -- even pornographers know enough to "run bars!"

We hit a second party around 11, this one at a restaurant. There were a few boozed-up delegates, not a VIP in sight, and a far younger crowd than the one at the private party -- including a few people from the dot.com press! Nobody was talking politics -- it was more like being at a college pickup bar.

Dave and I cornered a slacker from voter.com. I asked him how he could tolerate working in the same company as Randy Tate. "Prescription pain killers," he said with a laugh. "Tate's a total tool. He only took the gig for the cable news face time."

Most of Tuesday provided a respite from glitterati and cell phones. The highlight of the day was lunch with Bernie, a music industry lobbyist, at Trader Vic's, the haute-tacky Polynesian restaurant at the Hilton. Bernie and I know each other from our record label days. I got to tweak him about the RIAA's assault on Napster -- not only because it managed to generate an unwanted backlash, but because it's too little too late. There are now dozens of Napster-like apps that allow music lovers to trade mp3 files. But Bernie knows this already -- and he's not happy with the way the RIAA handled the situation.

"The big five [that's Universal, Bertelsmann, Time-Warner, EMI and Sony] were in the drivers seat on this one," said Bernie. "Hilary [that's Hilary Rosen, the top dog at the RIAA, and a strong advocate for the labels] didn't have a whole lotta choice."

"Tell me this, Bernie -- have you ever 'A-B'ed an mp3 up against a CD?"

"Where's this going, Doc?"

"Just do it sometime -- at matched levels. Even on a mid-fi mini-component system. You can hear a difference. Mp3s are full of artifacts that even an untrained ear can hear. That's mp3's dirty little secret -- and you guys haven't said word one about it! To hell with lawsuits -- you want the serious music fan to buy more CDs? Have 'em hear the difference."

"Dream on, Doc -- that has about as much chance of working as Spitzer's price-fixing suit does of winning in court." Bernie was referring to Eliot Spitzer, New York State's Attorney General, who spearheaded a 28-state lawsuit that was filed last week against the Big 5 and some big retailers. The RIAA is, of course, backing the labels on this fight.

Okay, I'll cut Bernie some slack -- because he's got an ax to grind with the Democrats on one count, and I have to agree with him.

"What's happened to our party? Has it turned into the official party of moralist buttheads?"

"Um... Bernie, Bill Bennett hasn't changed parties, has he?"

"I'm talking about the Playboy Mansion flap. The Beltway idiots don't seem to know that the place is charity gala central out here. Whose stupid idea was it to even make that event an issue -- and give free ammo to morons like Chris O'Reilly?"

"Good question," I said. "From what I've heard, most of the Gore camp didn't really have a problem with the event."

"My money's on Weasel Boy," said Bernie. "Weasel Boy" is his pet name for DNC chairman Joe Andrew. Bernie does not like Andrew -- "He's been screwing over too many loyal Dems to his own ends."

"You're saying Andrew did it?"

Bernie laughed. "I'm just saying I wouldn't put it past him. But what was done to Loretta Sanchez -- I mean, that woman's a hero. She defeated stealth Nazi B-1 Bob [Dornan] -- absolutely kicked his sorry ass all the way to Nuremburg and back after he tried every dirty trick in the book to beat her. She's a star -- one of the big-time good guys. And this is the thanks she gets? Because Playboy might offend the sensitive tastes of certain people? I mean, do we really want to 'reach out' to moralist Bible-pounders at the expense of Hispanic voters?"

"Look at the bright side," I said. "Sanchez canceled the event -- then turned around and told the DNC to stick it if they expected her to speak. They bungled this -- and I would wager good money that heads will roll over this. Maybe even your pal Weasel Boy."

"The sooner, the better," said Bernie as he flagged down the waitress for another round of festive tropical drinks. I can't remember the name, but it contained rum and seemed awfully watered down The bartender must have been a Republican.

Tuesday night brought another road trip to fundraising fetes. The pattern was pretty much the same -- although the first party we hit seemed devoid of elected officials from California and featured a lot of key East Coast types. That was unusual, considering it was held at the ultra-trendy Peninsula -- we did not see a single Hollywood celeb, but did notice at least five congresspersons from the northeast, ranging from Massachusetts to Maryland. I did spot a guy I knew to be a pharma lobbyist. a really oily guy from New Jersey, schmoozing what looked to be Washington types -- a couple thirtysomething sensible, conservative dresses. I'd put my money on their having been higher-ups at the HHS.

There was a party a little later at the home of a film producer. A big one. I didn't see too many delegates, but there were members of Congress and a half dozen Clinton Administration undersecretaries in attendance -- and a goodly assortment of contributors. There weren't any obvious Beltway types in sight. I did see a few familiar actor types, including at least one Baldwin brother. Julianna and I couldn't figure out which one it was -- other than his not being Alec.

And unlike the other parties we'd attended, this one was loud. Lots of live music. Plenty of dancing. It was an actual party.

Julianna introduced me to a few Left Coast media honchos she pals around with, all with the film and television division of her company. As yet another round of visually dazzling hors d'oeuvres were offered us by a chiseled waiter, I couldn't resist chatting Jules's colleagues up about Joe Lieberman -- and his calls for the industry to police itself in the areas of sex and violence.

"Well, he did want to kick 'Friends' off television," said Stefan, one of Julianna's studio friends. "I have NO problem with that -- it's up against one of OUR shows in the same time slot! MY contribution's in the mail!" After a round of forced laughter, Stefan added, "Sure, I'm put off by this overmoralizing -- but Dick Cheney scares the living hell out of me. This town is still solidly behind the Dems, even if there is a lot of carping about Lieberman and all the values talk. At the end of the day, the pols value the donations -- and remember their friends."

"It's a minor issue, and it falls off the radar once Gore's sworn in," said Akiko, who works with Julianna. "Besides, it's a good political tactic -- it pulls in centerist parents and soccer moms who actually do care about what their kids watch -- and no doubt exercise veto over the remote anyway."

"I think he's a net minus," said another friend of Jules. "His stand on hobbling affirmative action, his stand on social security, I just get a bad feeling." He quietly added, "It almost makes me take Nader seriously. Going to the center is one thing, but a veep candidate that sounds almost like a pro-choice version of Steve Forbes is a bit too much to take."

We headed to the open bar -- and a ten-people-deep mob waiting for drinks. This was one thirsty crowd. There were a lot of young twenty-somethings in spaghetti-strap dresses at this particular fete, and noticeably more women than men.

A very tall, WASPy-looking woman in a Little Black Dress waiting next to me at the open bar turned to her companion and said in her finest Connecticut lockjaw, "You've just gotta love these New Democrats. They're just like Republicans, but with far better food presentation, don't you think?"