From WNYC in New York, this is on the media.

Bob Garfield's Way, I'm Brooke Gladstone.

This week, the Democratic National Convention acted to distinguish its tone from the doom and gloom of last week's R&C.

In her historic speech Thursday night, Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton pushed back against the idea that America

is a country on the brink of chaos, suggesting instead that it is a country where all our children

can dream and those dreams are within reach, where families are strong, communities are safe, and yes, where love, trumps

hate. Despite images of harmony at the closing gavel, the press informed us throughout the

week that all was not well in Philadelphia. There was an unruly element that threatened to burn

right through the love.

Drama with a capital D.

The capital D.

Sanders supporters booing every mention of Clinton's name.

People are booing, people are chanting Hillary.

Late night comics seemed fixed on the tears of the thwarted opposition, fixed but unmoved.

There were so many white women crying. I thought Pinterest had died.

I have not seen that many crying women since Bernie opened for the Beatles.

But as the comics and the pundits analyzed the agony and acrimony of the Bernie Battalion, the speakers at the podium were

focused on a more existent threat. The richest thing about Donald Trump is his hypocrisy.

Hand over your money, your jobs, your children's future, and the great Trump hot air machine

will reveal all the answers. He's trying to tell us he cares about the middle class.

Give me a break.

That's a bunch of malarkey.

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