So, what is the experience itself like?

Obviously, I can’t speak for the delegates, protestors, service providers, real journalists or even for other bloggers, but for me it’s a lot like going to a sports arena and watching a sport that consists of talking loud.

There I am, seven stories up in the Fleet Center, facing a giant screen which is only partially obscured by a giant bank of giant speakers. At 4 o’clock, when the Convention is gaveled to order by Terry MacAuliffe — a man so clean and well groomed that you want to take him home and dress his anatomically incorrect body in lots of fun outfits — the hall is more empty than full. Speaker after speaker comes onto the screen and mouths phrases that contain the two out of the three words “strong,” “proud” or “children.” Every now and then, you hear a crowd far below, clapping and yelling. Apparently some of them have funny hats on.

Then, once the TV cameras start carrying it live, it all comes to life. The big names come out, dragging their ant-like bodies into the light. Their smiling visages are projected on the giant screen: A 40-foot Clinton biting a 3-foot lip. You can hear the fourth echo of some of their words, but the rising endings of their phrases are wiped out by the white noise of enthusiasm they’ve elicited.

Then 35,000 people decide to leave at the same time and take the T from the Haymarket Station.

Last night, after I finally got home, I watched the Tivo’ed version of Clinton’s speech. So I can say with some certainty that the main difference between seeing it live and seeing it at home is that at home you get better reception.

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