Day two of the turkey that is the Democratic National Convention is in the books which now makes it officially half-baked. As of this writing, on the afternoon of day three, I am into my seventeenth straight hour of viewing the televised coverage and fear I’ve come down with a case of acute hearing loss coupled with a touch of diversity fatigue.

To paraphrase John Edwards, this week has seen two conventions; the little watched daytime version and the evening, media-drenched confab. The former is the red meat entrée intended for hardcore consumption while the latter is a veritable dessert cart of sweet confections from which the press plucks sound bytes to be fed to the public.

Particularly fascinating though are the early afternoon sessions. These offerings seem to have no rhyme or reason, no cogency stringing them together. One is reminded of the ‘morning business’ sessions on Capitol Hill where congressman rise to speak on whatever they please; except that here, every spoken word screams, ‘stem-winder.’

Faithful party yeomen, minor state officials and special interest spokespersons take to the podium to deliver harangues for and against a myriad of issues. The only thing they have in common is that they must first deliver their multi-cultural and/or working-class bona fides before delivering their high volume arguments.

Yet scattered in between the fiery speeches are touchy-feely videos paying testimony to the sanctity of John Kerry along with candlelit, kumbaya moments. To say that this dichotomy is disconcerting would not do it justice. The scheduling of the speakers causes one to wonder what in heaven’s name the organizers were drinking when this event was planned.

On Tuesday, after an address by Elizabeth Cavendish of NARAL, the huge screen behind the podium was filled with images of beaming toddlers and healthy, happy babies. A soft-spoken, troubled, young woman who claimed Kerry inspired her to turn around her life was followed by what can only be described as a jet-fueled, screech by Robert Kennedy, Jr., rife with warnings of ecological Armageddon.

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Wednesday evening saw the first fireworks of the convention set off by two of Mr. Kerry’s erstwhile competitors, Dennis Kucinich and Al Sharpton. Peace candidate Kucinich, exhibiting his usual pixie-ish lunacy, seemed to rouse those still trying to figure out what Teresa was talking about on Tuesday. He later managed to garner some roll call votes.

Predictably, the Reverend Al delivered what Democrat honchos feared the moment he announced his candidacy: a schedule-busting, race-baiting chastisement of everyone not named Sharpton. And the crowd loved it. But, having served his purpose, he was soon shunted aside lest he and his supporters get the idea that they were anything but window-dressing.

After a mind-numbingly dull performance by Bob Graham doused the flames, the true believers in the building (as well as the delegates) spent the next few hours waiting for John Edwards to re-ignite them.

It was during this pause that a strange thing happened on the convention floor. Sometime during the Graham snooze-fest (was he reading excerpts from his diary?), numerous, handheld American flags began appearing on the floor in advance of network coverage. Prior to that, the most conspicuous items were the obligatory silly hats, signs and the “give Bush a pink slip” scarves that identified the wearer as a “delegate for peace.”

After a parade of high party muck-a-mucks and anti-war generals did their bit, it was on to the Edwards family, led by pretty daughter Cate, clad in a smart, Jackie O-ish green outfit. Mom was next and she spoke plainly and likeably; wisely stepping aside quickly for the main event.

Trial lawyer Edwards seemed to adhere to the Hippocratic oath and mainly did no harm. He gave an expanded version of his stump speech that was muscled up to include a warning to Al Qaeda and, borrowing a Bush 2000 riff, chanting that “hope is on the way.”

Oddly, the band played Stevie Wonder’s Sir Duke as he and his family basked in the All-American moment at the end of his speech. He left to raucous applause -- the crowd on its feet, flags waving furiously -- to await the roll call vote that would launch him into history.

A short time later, in a live report from the fast-emptying floor, Fox News election guru ‘Campaign’ Carl Cameron rummaged through debris in the aisles. He picked up, among other things, one of the discarded American flags. Like Al Sharpton and all the other trimmings, they too had served their purpose.

Lisa Fabrizio is a freelance columnist from Stamford, Connecticut.

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