Here in Denver, I am experiencing my first Democratic National Convention (with more to come, hopefully). As new as so many aspects of it are, there is something very familiar about the experience. I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was, but yesterday it hit me: The whole thing feels just like a music festival. As a several time attendee of the Bonnaroo festival in Manchester, Tennessee, as well as a security worker at this year’s AllGood Festival in Masontown, West Virginia, I’ve observed my share of patchouli-fueled debauchery. Though the audience is slightly sharper dressed here in the mile-high city, the ethos remains the same.

As you walk the streets in Denver, there is a festive atmosphere. Politicians and pundits in polos and pinstripes occupy the same bustling sidewalks as protesters and peddlers decked out in pins and posters. Everybody wears their agendas on their sleeves. Actual participants in the proceedings are in a constant state of hustle-and-bustle as they compete to out-fox each other in organizational prowess. Walking the streets of the city, it is not uncommon to receive a compliment on the quality of a portable audio mixer or the depth of access offered by the credentials hanging from your neck. Earlier today at a speech by Hillary Clinton for her delegates, a woman wandered through the crowd holding a sign that read “will tell Bush jokes for tickets to Invesco [(where Obama will deliver his acceptance speech)]“. While delegates and politicians gorge themselves at an endless array of buffets and brunches, members of the press trade sleeping and eating for the chance to inhale experiences and rub elbows with media celebrities.

Though any people are increasingly bleary-eyed and sore from endlessly walking down barricaded streets and toting around equipment, there is a palpable sense of excitement in the air. Many faces give off the impression that the minds behind them are thinking, “I could do this full-time! I don’t want this party to ever end!” To be sure, there is something special going on. Despite some differences of opinion, people have been extraordinarily friendly and outgoing. Even the overwhelming police presence can’t put a damper on people’s spirits. In fact, in my experience the police have been uniformly relaxed and friendly, joking with passers-by, posing for pictures, and politely enforcing the rules (though I’m sure the detained and tear-gassed protesters would disagree). I’m from Philadelphia, so you can imagine how disconcerting this is.

Beyond the euphoria, though, are some less-glorious truths. Cars guzzle gas as they idle in traffic, and everywhere people are throwing down cash to expedite their transportation, food consumption, and ability to communicate and move information. Thousands of vendors offer custom-made t-shirts, buttons, bumper stickers, action figures, posters, and bobbleheads, all emblazoned with Barack Obama’s face (in two poses, smiling benevolently, or solemnly gazing into the distance). Burning through resources and money, we are participating in an exercise in rampant consumerism. The party has no choice but to end.

This dichotomy is the same bifurcation that governs the festival scene. The spirit is right. Love, peace, togetherness… it’s all there. But the scene is not sustainable.