One week and counting
WAITING FOR the Democratic National Convention is a little like waiting for a blizzard. A person listens to the experts, stares at the maps, counts down the hours, and twitches with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
How bad will it be? How good will it be? The predictions depend on the predictor. "I say put on the best face and smile your way through it," Thomas Finneran, speaker of the Massachusetts House, told the Globe. "If I could sing, I'd break out into song."
But State Police Major Michael Mucci isn't even whistling. "If people think it's just another Monday and they do everything they normally do on any Monday, we're in a lot of trouble," he told the Globe.
One can hear the echo of meteorologists tracking a winter storm: Well, folks, it's either going to turn to rain and blow out to sea or dump 2 feet of snow on the morning commute.
The mind whirls faster than political spin, sorting out options, alternate routes, and emergency preparedness basics. Don't leave home without a full tank of gas -- better yet, don't leave home.
No, wait -- leave home and take the MBTA. But don't carry anything too big or too weird. The harp lesson is out. But what about the Che Guevara T-shirt?
The convention is referred to as a "gala," which is supposed to be a good time with balloons and bands and funny hats. But the image doesn't quite square with state troopers called in from Connecticut, the arrival of bioterror attack antidotes from the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, mobile command vehicles, and bomb-sniffing dogs.
Maybe it's better to be far away next week so that one is free to gloat the way people on February vacations in Florida do when Boston gets hammered and all roads are impassable.
But the convention, with all its angst and disaster potential, does still beckon, if only for historical bragging rights. "It was the political Blizzard of '78 and I was there!"
Curiosity is at work, too, and a person itches to get close to the thing, much as he or she might want to stand in the driveway to feel the snow stinging the skin. Just a peek into the hall, or down the streets approaching the hall, or anywhere in downtown Boston where one can see delegates with name tags taking in the sights.
There are great sights, after all, as well as history that hatched the very presumption of America. So one might want to walk up to the people with the name tags and point the way to Paul Revere's house or the State House or library or harbor -- adding with the conflicted tenacity of a Red Sox fan: I live here.
The convention is coming! The convention is coming! Buy batteries, stay alert, and relish the inescapable thrill, no matter how many roads are closed.
