Scenes from CPAC

By Teresa Mull

People claiming there’s no “diversity” within the conservative movement obviously haven’t been to CPAC.

The Conservative Political Action Committee’s annual conference attracts all kinds: big wigs, small wigs, old folks, young guns, enthusiastic co-eds, neo-cons, paleo-cons, Bible-believing Christians, conservative atheists, libertarians, tea partiers, borderline anarchists, birthers, survivalists, straight up Republicans, the token liberal reporter, anyone who watches Fox News, and Donald Trump.

There are eccentrics to be sure. The first person I saw when I walked into the Gaylord National Convention Center was wearing an American flag track suit, complete with a coordinating headband. I breathed heavily and mentally prepared myself for the rest of what I was about to encounter.

There’s no avoiding anyone you know at CPAC. Just as you turn the corner and think you’re safe from some person you used to work with and never liked, you have to stop, drop, and roll away from someone you met at a happy hour but don’t remember where or why. It’s like making reparations for the sin of un-replied emails and networking that went nowhere.

Miles are walked during CPAC, causing much distress to the girls who insist on wearing heels day after day after bloody blister. The set-up is a mix between a cruise ship and a space station, far enough removed from D.C. not to disturb the liberals who live there, and close enough for…nothing. …

[Published on Human Events, Read More Here]