Things not going to the DNC in Charlotte

Your party’s national convention is supposed to be a happy time, when your great, big, fuzzy family of like-minded individuals come together for a ceremonial vote on someone who was already a foregone conclusion six months ago, anyway. It’s filled with fun, frivolity, drink and discussion; it’s a place that celebrates the casual alcoholism and formal narcissism that goes along with holding and trailing on public office, and sets the tone for the weeks ahead, where campaign staffers will be fed only from vending machines, journalists will be driven to homicide, and America’s glorious election cycle will begin once again.

Unless you count this year’s DNC, which is turning out to be an unmitigated disaster, as attendees and fundraisers are running from it faster than John Edwards from a brunette with a law degree and a responsible credit record. Here’s a short list of who won’t be feteing the dear leader as he tries for a second bite at the apple:

• Democrats who secretly enjoy stock car racing, or whose underdeveloped sense of irony permitted them to think Americans would come to accept and love a NASCAR speedway white collar cocktail party. Also, they don’t have money for it, so it’s just going to be a few family members and close friends in the private room at the Red Lobster down the street. Cash bar.

• Obama’s best friend Claire McCaskill, who would have totally been there except that she had this thing and like, she needs to wash her hair for it or something.

• An entire slideshow of people whose states rely on supplying energy to the rest of the union despite the best efforts of the Environmental Protection Agency

• And anyone who listens to this guy.

But just remember, it has absolutely nothing to do with distancing yourself from Obama. And everything to do with the fact that they just don’t have money for anything. Which is shocking if you consider that the President has done little other than fund-raise from millionaires when he’s not improving his handicap on the golf course. It’s like he think it’s his job or something.