1. I run into Diane on the sidewalk while walking from Ybor City to the convention. She's holding a sign and waving to cars, some of whom were beeping in agreement. She says hi. I say hi. She asks for a hug. I look at her for a second and hug her. This isn't some stranger-hug; Diane holds on to me for longer than you would ordinarily hug someone you meet on the street. She makes soothing noises and pats my back in a matronly way. It feels really good.

I ask Diane if she is doing this for the convention. She laughs. "You got all kinds of people out here" for the convention, she says, "but I'm here every Tuesday." Every Tuesday, you sit by the side of a busy road with a sign reminding people that Jesus Cares? She laughs and nods. "I've got a website, too," she says. She hands me a slip of paper with this address on it. She tells me to keep Jesus Christ in my heart and asks me how long I'm in town for. I say until Friday and say I'm then on to Charlotte. She laughs and says that Jesus will see me through. I tell her that sounds nice. I leave her in a good mood.

2. The stadium in Tampa Bay has special Prayer Rooms just for the convention. When I look inside these awful little rooms with their antiseptic seating and sickening color palette, I get a little nauseous. There can be no good praying to come from these rooms, with the scent of Little Caesar's wafting in from a concession stand and the beer spilled on the carpet. What kind of a person needs a special room to pray during a political convention? And further, what person seeks the insight of God and then votes for a Romney/Ryan ticket? The only prayers that can be prayed in these rooms are the evil kind. I hate these rooms with all my heart.