Screw party politics, governmental gambits, and the wonk-ish waffling that happens behind closed doors: the Democratic National Convention in Denver is proving that the most effective way to advance democratic principles is through equal opportunity ... junketeerism!

For reporters, free stuff abounds (That's why we're called "free"-lance. Duh.). Here in Denver, we're treated to an endless flow of continental breakfasts, finger foods, buffets, catered lunches, snack breaks, full-blown Colorado lamb dinners, "receptions" (read: free booze, one step above Natty Light, and boxed wine), "V.I.P. receptions" (two steps above Natty Light and boxed wine), and "late night parties" involving all of the above.

It's all very welcome, if a tad unseemly.

But there's also something special about this convention, and it doesn't involve the foregone conclusion that I can organize my day around which events have the best hors d'oeuvres and booze. No, it's that here in 2008, junketeerism is taken to whole new heights. Take Google HQ, or, better, the Huffington Post-sponsored Oasis, which invites everyone—even "rivals" from other magazines and outlets (anyway, it is kind of hard to get a real scoop when 15,000 compatriots are also sniffing out juicy convention stories)—to come and "unplug and recharge."

At first vexed by something that didn't involve any alcohol (although right downstairs from the Oasis is The Big Tent, where dorky bloggers gather to "work"/drink beer all day), I was nonetheless drawn in by the cute-yet-contrived blogger parlance, by the ubiquity of Arianna Huffington, and by the fact that the first person I saw when entering the lounge was Days of Our Lives actress Deirdre Hall. "Haven't they created a lovely space?" she asked me with a benign, if dazed smile, probably the result of the hour-long Thai massage she'd received mere moments before.

I didn't get the chance to ask what the hell she was doing at the convention, because really, why would I care, when I had all-access to the smorgasbord of rejuvenation in front of me? There was a private yoga lesson from Sean Corne ("If there were celebrities in the yoga world, she would be one," the Oasis staff whispered conspiratorially to me right before I was pushed into a rather stiff downward dog); a facial; foot reflexology; a massage. And this is to say nothing of the "energizing" snack of some green-ish juice, raw dark chocolate ("The highest anti-oxidant food on the planet," Amrit from Essential Living Foods assured me), goji berry and purple corn extracts, and cacao nibs. I walked out carrying a bag filled with natural greek yogurt, bottles of (alcohol-free) beverages, lotions, crémes, tips on improving my life, and magical powders. I hummed Ohms all the way out the door and into the elevator.

Then, in my stupor, I made the mistake of taking the elevator all the way to the basement, and, confused, walking into an area where I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be. Amidst boxes of extra anti-oxidant supplements and a table stacked with "Convention Volunteer Information," I stumbled into a young woman with a bright red face who was screaming at another woman over the hot-button issue of parking passes for sponsors. "I cannot believe you didn't check with me first before giving them away. What's wrong with you? I'm extremely frustrated!" shrieked Woman One. "Well, I still don't have a check from you guys," Woman Two spit back, fury transmogrifying her pretty face into something almost monstrous. "What are you talking about?" Woman One roared, adding, "I sent it like two weeks ago!!"

So much for relaxation. I guess free stuff at the convention comes with a price after all—at least for some people!