You know what is more fun than driving in a metropolitan area for the first time? Doing it in the dark during a rain storm that makes you hanker for gopher wood.

I decamped around 5:30 a.m., hoping to roll into the DoubleTree on the lakefront in time to stumble over my thoughts for Larry Hansgen on WHIO Radio. The heavens were wrung out. God was either weeping at the state of our union or he was cleansing the city in preparation for the ascent of Trump–read the tea leaves however you like.

I flipped through the radio stations, in search of a tonic for my fraying nerves, and found a familiar song, the timeless Stealers Wheel ditty, Stuck in the Middle With You. There is something atrocious that politicizes wrongly. When every thought or action or snatch of lyrics reminds you of a political equivalent, you may as well be a joyless Marxist, or one of his growly descendants. I often push back at such temptations and I think it gives me a happier life. But this morning, in God’s deluge, I could not resist the pull.

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right / Here I am, Stuck in the Middle With You

Now, don’t take “middle” for ideological space. I really don’t see myself as a moderate, but the political landscape seems littered with clowns and jokers. I keep waiting for the cigar to explode or for the nose to squeak or the jester-like cackle.

As I surfed toward the city, the next song was No Doubt’s Don’t Speak. Well, stink. I have already jobbed this whole thing. At least it didn’t say, “Don’t Write.” My artistic conscience is still pure! Time to move on. The third song was The Black Keys Howlin’ For You, one of my favorite recent tunes. If there was ever a lyric for our political age, it is this one.

I must admit / I can’t explain / Any of these thoughts racing / Through my brain / It’s true / Baby I’m howlin’ for you

There seems so little reason or substance and so much emotional tribalism. How many people have I met during the past 48 hours who have said something like, “sure, Trump is awful, but at least he’s not Hillary.” There is just animus at the bottom of that view. It makes no difference what Trump thinks or who he is, it only matters who he is not. It is akin to the barbaric yawp that slathers over the nation’s rooftops.

All of this shouldn’t be read to mean I like Hillary Clinton. I don’t. I cannot imagine ever voting for her, but I need a positive reason to vote for Trump. Baby, I’m not Howlin’ for the Donald.

When Ronald Reagan was asked about campaign donors that were less than ideologically pure, he always replied, “I’m not signing onto their agenda when they give me money, they are signing onto mine.” By that analogy, if I cast a vote for Mr. Trump, I am signing onto something. But what?

Once I overcame the additional obstacles, I strolled through the spinning door–is there anything as grand as a hotel entrance with classic, revolving glass door? It feels like you are entering an air lock, which I guess you are–and plopped into the chair across from Larry Hansgen, the Miami Valley’s news-talk titan, and tried to keep up for the next two hours. In the interim, I did a stand up with Lauren Clark of WHIO TV and some newspaper interviews with Laura Bischoff and Jessica Wehrman. Katie Ussin of WDTN stopped to say “hello.” It seemed we S.W. Ohio folks were knotting together as a defense mechanism.

Eventually, I went back outside. The good thing about a dogs and cats affair in the morning? In July? It makes the afternoon light and springy, without a touch of humidity. Not. The sweat popped off my skin as an unseen blanket of fog wrapped around my head. I assumed I would be swimming in perspiration by the time I got to the Quicken Loans Arena, or The Q, where the main shindig was being held.

The security line took about an hour to get through. I thought it would take longer, frankly. Everyone was good-natured. Inside was so much of what you might expect. There were more bow ties than at a Dr. Who convention. The GOP’s favorite material? Seersucker. GOP delegates either look like preppies, bankers, or as if they are carrying a six-shooter. Of course, being the GOP, the preppies probably pack heat as well, just not in the hall.

I saw lots of famous and familiar faces, but one jumped out–Harry Hamlin. A Republican? Friend of Donald? Constitutional Gadfly? I need to know. I had a Mad Men flashback and was happy again, at least for a moment.

Here are some representative pictures.

Quick! Pick out the Texas Delegation!

Um, excuse me. I’m looking for a conservative nominee. Could you help me find one? Thanks. Oh, you don’t have one? Hmm. Well, how about one that supports free trade? No? Well, how about entitlement reform? Um, support of NATO? Fine. At least give me one that is tough on the thugs like Putin or Saddam. No? Good grief.

One student said, “If you look closely, you can see the dumpster fire.”

More thoughts tomorrow, especially on the Rules Shenanigans and what could be the death of the conservative wing of the GOP.