The Worst 52 Hours Ever

As we digest last week's Republican National Convention and that party's traditional small government platforms, such as a constitutional ban on gay marriage, as well as their staunch pro-life platforms, such as an unequivocal support of the death penalty and fewer restrictions on guns, now might be a good time to take a look back on the last time these guys (and token gals) got together, four years ago. For those of you journalists and protesters who were illegally arrested in Minnesota, you'll want to pay close attention.

It was summer, 2004. Life was so simple back then. Gasoline was affordable to "ordinary Americans" and not just rich people (those who earn five million dollars or more), our citizens had their phones illegally wiretapped in blissful ignorance by the government and their friends at AT&T, and no U.S. cities had been destroyed through gross incompetence and lack of interest.

It was an intense time of hope for Democrats who were so confident in their chances in November that they nominated a candidate without charisma or balls. Life was good. I mean, after all, he was a Vietnam vet - how could that go wrong?

Meanwhile, in New York City (where I live as a TV and film writer), the Republicans were holding their nominating convention. It was a great time for people in the novelty t-shirt business (top seller that week: "I Ignored Warnings About 9/11 And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt...And War") and a terrible time for the rest of us. I mean, why would the party of George Bush come to New York City, the heart of blue state America? Was it because they didn't feel like would-be terrorists hated the city enough yet? We already have Wall Street, the UN, and buckets full of Jews. Do we really need to further draw their attention to Manhattan? If you want them to finish the job, why not just place a giant banner on top of the Empire State Building of two homos "doing it" on a bed of Korans?

Regardless, the Republicans were here. This is the story of what happened to me back then, and hopefully it will serve as a reminder of what can happen to an average American who dares to speak his or her mind...or who dares to, say, walk down the street while Republicans are in town.

On August 31st, 2004, after going to a couple of protests, my girlfriend Deirdre and I split up for the day - I headed to Queens to work on a screenplay with my friend Andrew; she went down to a rally in Union Square in one of the city's handy-dandy free-speech zones. Deirdre's old enough to remember when there was this really big free-speech zone located between the Canadian and Mexican borders. That's why I'm tadpoling with her - she tells the craziest stories!

Thus began one of the worst 52 hour stretches of my life. I should warn you that what you're about to read is not only completely true, it is also very difficult to deal with on an emotional level, as terrible event after terrible event befell me. Here are my diary excerpts from that stretch of time:

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4:30 p.m.: Deirdre and I discuss why Republicans are bad. I'm undecided on this fact because despite Iraq, a terrible economy, religious zealotry, and a special needs President, Republicans like tax cuts. Even though I'm currently on unemployment, I plan to earn a great deal of money very soon. Must reconcile this ethical internal dilemma soon! Deirdre and I part ways.

5:30 p.m.: Arrive at Andrew's apartment to continue writing our hilarious screenplay. Deirdre arrives at Union Square Park.

5:35 p.m.: We take our first break. Deirdre still at Union Square.

7:30 p.m.: Andrew beats me at a game of PlayStation football during our third break. Dammit! Meanwhile, Deirdre and approximately 35 other people doing nothing but walking down 17th Street are arrested by the cops. I guess they were being charged with "intent to protest." Didn't realize that was a crime. Included in this group is a woman who had walked out of her 17th Street apartment to get some milk from a bodega. I'm unclear on things like "law" thanks to my degree in "Television Writing" from Syracuse University.

7:45 p.m.: On her bare knees on 17th Street, Deirdre's hands are bound by plastic handcuffs, cutting off her circulation. Just like my wide receiver was cut off by an illegal downfield block by Andrew, The Biggest Cheater Ever. Rematch: The Forces of Good 17, Biggest Cheater Ever 34. I'm boiling mad now.

10:00 p.m.: Andrew and I come up with this really heady fart joke. Hollywood's gonna eat this up (will really need that tax break for the wealthiest 1 percent at this rate!). We're gonna eat up some Mr. Softee as a reward for being hilarious. Meanwhile, Deirdre arrives at Pier 57, a former bus depot now being called Guantanamo North.

11:15 p.m.: Deirdre asks a police officer to loosen her handcuffs due to extreme pain and loss of feeling in her hands. Officer responds: "They're not the pink fluffy ones you have at home." Zing! Good one. At approximately the same time, I come up with an equally funny line for the script, but then forget it while watching Yankees post-game.

Midnight: According to Andrew's roommate Geoff, there is apparently a fart joke eerily similar in "Blazing Saddles." We can NOT catch a break! Speaking of break: Poker break! Shuffle up and deal, Geoff! Oh, Deirdre finally has her handcuffs taken off.

1:15 a.m.: Only Andrew would pull a full house out of his butt when I have a flush. Goodbye, ten dollars. It's always tough saying good-bye to your hard-earned money. Why does God seem to hate me today? Meanwhile, Deirdre inquires about using one of the two bathrooms provided for the twelve hundred people currently being detained. Keep holding it, baby!

2:10 a.m.: Arrive at subway for ride back to Brooklyn.

2:25 a.m.: Should be any minute now.

2:40 a.m.: Here it is at last! Can't wait to get off my feet!

2:41 a.m.: Never mind - garbage train. Do they still run passenger trains at night?

2:53 a.m.: Finally get a seat on a Brooklyn-bound N train. Deirdre finally gets a seat at Pier 57. The holding facilities are so overcrowded that detainees have to take turns sitting.

3:57 a.m.: Home at last! Where's Deirdre? These cats aren't gonna feed themselves.

4:12 a.m.: Stop your damned meowing! I'm just as unhappy as you are that she's not here to feed you, but you don't hear me screaming about it.

4:17 a.m.: Have begun screaming for Deirdre to come home and feed the cats. Too bad she's busy trying to avoid skin blisters and rashes from the toxic puddles of indeterminate origin inside her bus depot holding facility.

4:44 a.m.: Lights out! The air conditioner's cool rumble is annoying - must have Deirdre look into that. I deserve a peaceful night's sleep after all that writing. Meanwhile, Deirdre stands in her cell, the lights on, as they will remain all night.

Noon: My alarm goes off. Who the hell set it this early? Worse yet, the song that wakes me up is "Arms Wide Open" by Creed. Apparently today will be as bad as yesterday. Meanwhile, Deirdre, now at a downtown holding facility, is finally offered food, 16 hours since first being arrested.

12:10 p.m.: Damn you, snooze button.

3:30 p.m.: Deposit my $400 unemployment check signed by George Pataki. See what I mean about Republicans and money? Must take a nap and then ponder politics.

6:17 p.m.: I figure I just earned $35 during my nap. Awesome! Awoken by Deirdre's boss calling. She didn't show up to work and didn't even bother calling in. Boy is she in trouble! Good thing there's one bread-winner in the house.

9:33 p.m.: These cats sure get woozy when Deirdre doesn't feed them.

2:35 a.m.: Trade deadline for fantasy baseball in 25 minutes. Didn't get another starting pitcher. Just great. Deirdre finally falls asleep (standing up) for the first time since being arrested 32 hours ago.

2:47 a.m.: Late night pizza makes me tired. So sleepy...

3:35 p.m.: NOT the best 12 hours of sleep I've ever had in my life. Maybe it's the mattress? Meanwhile, Deirdre is close to being told what she's being charged with, 44 hours after her arrest.

8:50 p.m.: Well, the State Supreme Court has forced the city to release the detainees illegally being held. Deirdre rushes into my arms, crying, at the courthouse (man she smells. I hope we don't run into anyone I know). She wants dinner - you and me both! I've been waiting down here for nearly four hours! And guess who gets stuck with the bill? I guess I can't play poker the next time we write.

What a lousy 52 hours. At least I've got the 2004 Yankees to turn my luck around come October.
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And that's the last page of my diary from that time period. 1,806 people were arrested during that week, some justly and far too many unjustly. In August of 2005, the Justice Department launched an investigation of the massive civil rights violations that occurred during this time. That investigation is ongoing. I hear OJ Simpson is currently heading it.

Deirdre is now part of a class action case against the city of New York. As it turns out, her last name was listed first in filing because her case is considered to be so strong. It's called "MacNamara vs. The City of New York."

More importantly, my terrible 52 hours kept on going as my screenplay didn't sell (it is still available for purchase). Which is really too bad, seeing as it's a much less terrifying read than "MacNamara vs. The City of New York," and frankly the jokes pop off the page more. Deirdre's lawyers are, frankly, not funny. What, are they gonna sue me for saying that?

What's that? They are? Dammit.

This has been the story of what happened at the last Republican National Convention. Does any of it sound familiar? Does anybody really care if it does?

Comments

[Lt]

If anything the R's are an anti-life party, unless you support their 'valuea' of course.

[AuntSally]

The Rs don't have a 'staunch pro-life platform'...

...instead, they have a staunch 'anti-choice' platform. We need to stop using their distorted framing on these issues

[Jack Helmuth - Huffpost Blogger]

Well said, Sally.