Yet for a week this summer, the whole world, it seemed, had its beady little eyes on my hometown, all because of the glorified frat party known as the 2000 Republican National Convention.

Personally I did not care if it was the Republicans, Democrats, Greens, Reforms or Captain Morgans, any sort of political convention within a ten mile radius of my bedroom sounded like no fun at all. As it is, I have enough trouble going about my daily business without inciting a riot, getting arrested or attracting the news media.

But during the Convention it was particularly difficult. I couldn't drive anywhere because the roads were closed off for some motorcade, walk anywhere because protesters were lying in the middle of the sidewalk, or buy anything that was not decorated with the image of an elephant (this included food and undergarments). I couldn't even get a drink at a bar, rent a seedy motel room or solicit a prostitute without encountering the inevitable phrase 'Reserved For A Private Party.' Buying drugs was particularly difficult due to both the army of police officers lining the streets as well as the tight squeeze upon the city's supply because of the delegates.

However, I am not one to let an opportunity to garner free stuff pass me by, and if political conventions are good for anything they are good for free stuff. My mother runs a charity organization and was thus invited to quite a few of the Republicans' little self-congratulatory 'altruistic' gatherings. She insisted upon my attendance, hoping that I would somehow magically inspire all those rich delegates to empty their pockets. I donned my 'respectable, unthreatening young woman' suit and accompanied her obediently.

One such bash was thrown by the automobile company Daimler-Chrysler at the Pennsylvania Convention Center. Now, I've been to my share of extravagant Bar and Bat Mitzvahs in my day, but this shindig made them look like Christmas morning the year Daddy lost his job at the factory: floor-to-ceiling balloons, four bars, T-shirts, gift bags, disco balls, mammoth displays about how great Chrysler is, even a few PT Cruisers and Jeep Grand Cherokees lying around for decoration. While my mother worked the crowd for potential donors, I stalked the hors d'oeuvres trays and downed free drinks, dodging the lecherous glances of middle-aged Midwestern business men in red, white and blue straw hats. Then it was time for the main event: a performance by the legendary musical group The Temptations! So what if only one original member is still around, so what if they're all sixty years old, so what if they haven't played to a crowd this white since before desegregation. They're getting paid! Everyone's happy! Even Richard Roundtree, the guy who played the original Shaft, who randomly showed up to sing a verse of 'My Girl.' Everyone loves a minstrel show!

In retrospect, I guess the Republican Convention wasn't all that bad. The Daily Show set up shop over at Penn, and it was pretty cool watching Jon Stewart make fun of my town every night. In an effort to impress the delegates the city had been cleaning itself up for weeks beforehand- washing windows, planting flowers and fixing potholes. Plus, the influx of protesters offered some of my more 'socially active' friends an opportunity to get it on with cute Marxist guys before they got locked up. And I did get lots of free food.