It is day three of the RNC convention and I am struggling. The late nights and early mornings are taking their toll. I am no longer the young and flexible person I was at my first convention in 1992. I am also struggling to define this convention. It has been both traditional and utterly unconventional. Despite Trump’s promise to bring us a Hollywood-type of show, the programming in Cleveland is no different than any convention I’ve ever attended. There are speakers at a podium. There are delegates with pre-produced signs. There’s an in-house band playing cheesy musical interludes. The most disruptive candidate in modern history has done nothing to dismantle or redefine the party convention. And, yet I’ve also never witnessed the kind of raw hatred toward an opposing party candidate as I’ve seen here. The chants of “lock her up” go beyond anything I have ever seen. Whatever your political beliefs or views, this isn’t something that anyone should be proud of or a trend that any of us should want to see continue. Despite my fogginess and weariness,

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