The Scene: Observations on Galloway-Hitchens

Wednesday's debate was scheduled to start at 7pm. I wanted a good seat so I arrived fairly early. I was probably within a block of Baruch College at around 6:10 when I spied the line spilling out of the theater's front door wrapping around the block.

Since it was very humid and I was sweating like a pig, I had looked forward to hitting the cool air of Mason Hall straight off. But that wasn't meant to be. As I approached the entrance, I realized there were two separate lines; one for ticket holders and one for will call. So as a "will caller," I was further distressed to learn that I would first have to wait for my tickets then join the line with the hundreds of others stewing in the humidity.

As I waited for my tickets, I noticed that there were large boxes of leaflets documenting some of Gallloway's more zany quotes and activities. Of course this had all been compiled by Hitch and I had seen them days before, but I was pleased to see that the onslaught had already begun. But shortly therafter some yahoos walked by offering me Democracy Now leaflets and other similar BS. A preview of coming attractions.

Amidst inexplicable confusion at the door, I was allowed in to get my tickets. And into this same lobby ticket holders were also moving toward the metal detectors (Really. I guess they were worried about folks like me showing up and allowing our "neocon rot" to seep into the theater). And I wondered to myself, "Self, upon getting your ticket why should you walk back out and reassemble at the back of the line? After all, hadn't you suffered great pains to get here the week before? And wasn't it, like really humid outside? And, like, didn't it appear as though no one would notice? And aren't you, like, the guy who never cuts in line? Ever?" So I simply walked in and found a seat about ten rows from the stage. I'm in place by 6:30. Assertiveness rules.

So then it started. A kind of panicky uneasiness set in. In Sesame Street parlance, one of these things was not like the others. Suddenly the row I was on started to fill in. The people immediately surrounding me all arrived together and were wearing buttons that said "Is it fascism yet?" Ugggh. "Oh great. The moonbat family is here. They are all eating salads. It smells like salad. Balsamic vinagrette, I think. Are those madarin orange slices I smell? Is it necessary to eat now? Weren't the people at the door adamant about no food? Weren't they adamant about not cutting in line? Oh, never mind."

18 year-old girl hanging out with some older moonbats, mouthful of arugula: "Doesn't this guy Hitchens know he's going to get ganged-up on? What a moron."

40-something year old woman next to me, mouthful of walnuts and mandarin orange slices: "They were passing out Hitchens propaganda out front. I hate these scumbags."

18 year-old to 40-something: "Oh, these are great pictures of you in Hawaii. What's with the tie-dye?" "I'm a child of the 60's, what can I say?"

I think I'm going to barf.

"Can you believe the metal detectors? I heard it was to keep the neocons out." You know us "neocons," we're always exercising our second amendment rights.

Fat hysterical woman joining her salad-eating friends, standing right over me as if I weren't there and gesticulating wildly, her arms flailing within centimeters of my head: "Oh my god! I've got great news. I just heard that all of the networks are reporting that because of all the FEMA failures they are now re-opening the investigation into 9/11!!!" "Oh, that's great news!!" "I know! Now they realize that Bush isn't above killing people just because he can." "Well you're not gonna like this tonight. This Hitchens guy is one of those monsters."

Searching for an air sickness bag in the seatback in front of me. Starting to think, "Maybe this was a bad idea. All these freaks here. This is going to descend into a free-for-all. And I'm surrounded by morons who will be yelling and screaming and cackling at every mention of Halliburton. I'm the only pro-Hitch guy in the whole joint."

The guy sitting in front of me is wearing a Guerilla News Network t-shirt. Some of the staff working the event are hotties. I assume they are Baruchers. Later I learn that they work for Democracy Now and I have to take three showers when I get home.

Some weird looking NPR librarian crunchy chick keeps loping giraffe-like across the stage. She's wearing a black vest, black new wave pants with horizontal silver zippers at mid-calf, and a red turtleneck sweater. "Who is she? She looks ridiculous."

"Oh my god! That dude's wearing a 'Who would Jesus Bomb?' t-shirt. It's amazing how many nose rings I've seen. I mean, this is New York. There's a lot of them anyway, but per capita this must be, like, nose ring ground zero."

Lots of info cross-pollination going on. Fat gesticulator hands a New York Magazine article to Child of the 60s. "Wait, no. New York Magazine?" "Just read it. It's about this guy who was on death row who was wrongly accused and ________ was trying to get him out for years." "Wait, this article starts out saying that the armed robber was an undocumented alien. 'Undocumented?' You've got to be kidding. That's right wing lingo. I'm not about to read the rest of this crap." Right, gloss over the armed robber part...

I try to tune them out. I scan the crowd. "That cat's wearing a Pakistan National Soccer Team jersey. I'm not surprised at all. Makes sense. This is just the norm here, though. At least I haven't seen a Che t-shirt." 18 year-old arugula girl: "When I met Ben at the polling station to vote in the primary, he was wearing his Che shirt. He looked so cute." I bet he was dreamy, all right. Cuban girls who have been murdered in the name of the revolution sure think Che's dreamy.

More leaflets. The Campus Anti-War Network is hosting a rally. "Military out of our schools! Bring the troops home now!" Child of the 60's is studying the 8-pt type intently. World Socialist Web: "Katrina proves failures of profit system!"

I'm sweating. I'm queasy. I'm wanting my blankie. "But why? Why do I care? These are all a bunch of nutters." Thinking. "Well, because I cannot deal with them. I cannot deal with their irrationality. They're so completely brainwashed by Counterpunch and Michael Moore and tales of the Trilateralists and Illuminati that one cannot begin to have a meaningful conversation with them. They're ANGRY. Really ANGRY. They're in no mood to be presented with compelling facts or to be persuaded. They lack couth. They have no sense of decorum. They feel ueber-entitled because they're ANGRY...and, well, RIGHT. Once the debate starts they are going to be rude and loud and annoying. They don't want to see a debate. They don't want to learn anything. They already know it all, even though precious few know who Rolf Ekeus is or have read Ken Pollack or paid any attention to what David Kay said before the war. They'd all rather pile into a room and engage in a few hours of primal scream therapy yammering about how Bush is the anti-christ. This absolutism paired with irrationality and volume is what makes me queasy. It's virtually unbearable."

Now it's 7p and they announce that there is going to be a delay. I'm sure these are the kind of folks who would have gotten it right in St. Bernard parish. Child of the 60s asks Fat oops Gravitationally Challenged Gesticulator where "Dilbert" and "Shaheen" are. For a second I wonder if she means that the cartoon character and Garden Hat Cindy are going to show.

I try to tune them out again. Scanning the crowd. "Oh my god, that guy looks like a psycho. His hand is in his jacket pocket. Still. Does he have a gun? His hand is still in his pocket. He looks like he's about to whip out a gun. Why do I wonder if his name is Gavrilo Princip? He looks uneasy. I mean, really. He looks like he's about to go on a five state killing spree." Lots of older unemployed men with ponytails here.

It's about 7:15 now. "Can we just get ON with this? Geez. Give me something to take my mind off of these morons. Wait. Wait. Is that? No. Is it? It is. I think it is. Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would be within fifteen feet of Katrina vanden Heuvel. The hysterical editor of The Nation is literally within diving distance. I could take her out right now. But not without getting thrown out. I wish I could throw something at her."

Lots of frenetic activity on stage. People are asked to take their seats. Suddenly the the NPR giraffe lopes back onto the stage. She makes a bad joke about how the debate is over. We have to wait longer. "Who is that? She looks ridiculous. Did you see those pants??? Oh, THAT'S Amy Goodman. Why is the moderator of this thing wearing pants from 1982? How am I supposed to take any of this seriously?"

The banners behind her are for the International Socialist Review, The Nation Institute, the New Press and the National Council of Arab-Americans. Pretty weird when I feel the most solidarity with the latter rather than any of the others.

"Oh my god. What am I in for?"